


You're Awful, I Love You!

by orphan_account



Category: South Park
Genre: And Incubus!Tweek, Daddy Kink, Don't say I didn't warn you, Except sexier, F/M, M/M, Squicky as hell, Which is like Imp!Tweek, You're not getting any warnings, just saying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-16 05:05:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 33,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13629195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: How did Craig ever get stuck with an incubus for a godson?





	1. You're My Sugar Plum

**Author's Note:**

> This was gonna be a one shot but it kept getting longer so I decided to split it up. Between work and school I don't have much free time but it'll probably only be like 5 chapters max.

Kill me romantically  
Fill my soul with vomit  
Then ask me for a piece of gum  
Bitter and dumb  
You're my sugarplum  
You're awful, I love you!  
-Love Me Dead, Ludo

* * *

Craig Tucker wakes to sweat on his face and the feeling of tightness and friction around his morning erection. Neither are a particularly disturbing experience. Neither are even new or surprising.

He is used to the sweltering heat of the room at this point. It's been so many years since he's been able to turn on the air conditioning in his house, or even a fan. And the idea of sexual consent in his life disappeared nearly a decade ago.

Still, he sighs with annoyance and just waits for it to end, eyes closed against the stinging bite of sweat. His skin pricks with heat. He thinks about what he has to do this morning. He has that meeting with Justin and the marketing department, and he needs to pick up Mr. McKenna from the airport. He'll probably also need to take Mr. McKenna out for dinner, and maybe a strip club, because Mr. McKenna has a weakness for strippers.

Craig doesn't have a weakness for anybody, sexually. He isn't even sure if he's gay or bi or what. It's been too long since he's had a chance to experiment. He never truly had the chance to explore his preferences, though he had slept with both males and females in his late teenage years. The vague concept of sexuality was something he had just been starting to question his junior year of college. Before he became a father.

To lust after somebody you need the chance to become tight with need. To crave touch and sensuality and release. You need to experiment, to long after. You need to not be forced to cum a half dozen times a day, minimum.

He doesn't have that privilege. His seed doesn't belong to him.

It belongs to this creature bouncing atop him as if he were his personal trampoline, hips grinding down, gripping him by the skin. The sharp points of his claws dig just slightly into Craig's hip bones, anchoring him, as the wet sound of skin slapping fills the room. Only overshadowed by the loud purring noise coming from this being, as if he were a giant house cat gifted with a toy filled with catnip.

Craig figures that's his role. He's the catnip.

“Tweek?” Craig asks wearily.

“Hm?” Tweek asks, opening his red eyes to stare down at the human he's impaled himself on.

“You almost done?”

“Hungry,” Tweek says petulantly, pulling up once more to slam himself down onto Craig's cock twice as hard as the previous thrusts had been. “Don't be mean, Daddy, I need breakfast.”

He's always particularly hungry in the morning. Even with the snack he usually helps himself to at about two in the morning most nights. Still, Craig knows it's already late by the sunlight streaming through his window. The temperature is rising outside, soon it will be a hundred degrees in this room.

He should already be in the shower. He doesn't set an alarm for himself, it'd be pointless. Tweek never allow him to sleep in. He hasn't slept more than four straight hours in a row in over a decade. It's like having a newborn in the house.

Well, he supposes he does have a newborn in the house.

“I need to get to work,” he points out. “I have a meeting at nine.”

“I'll pop your boss' tires so he'll be late, too,” Tweek offers, still riding him. He's breathing heavily, chest heaving and flushed. His nipples are hard. His cock is hard. His lips are plump. Everything about this boy is made to be enticing.

Popping Justin's tires? That's a horrible idea. Tweek has messed with his boss' car so many times at this point he probably thinks Craig is sneaking into his garage at night to do it. But Tweek feels so, so good around him and it's his duty to feed him. It's his duty to take care of him, to make sure he's healthy and happy. He promised the demon's mother nearly ten years ago he would watch after him.

He's his pet demon. His darling little incubus. His adoring sex kitten.

He'd die if he couldn't feed.

Others would die if he fed off anybody besides Craig.

So Craig puts his hands on Tweek's hips and watches him fuck himself onto his dick for another ten minutes before his body finally gives in and he climaxes, filling the incubus with the little semen still left in his wrung out, exhausted body.

Tweek purrs contently, wiggling his bottom, his tail snapping behind him. He's smiling with satisfaction, his little fangs pressing against his full bottom lip.

Craig pushes the demon off of himself and Tweek slips to his side, laying on his stomach. The blond stretches out, looking very much like the house cat he's already emulating by sound. His tail still lashes behind him but his wings are mostly drawn shut. Mostly. They hang to the sides, slightly loose with contentment.

Shaking his head at the display, Craig slips out of bed and heads to the shower. He wants to remove the scent of demon secretions off him, both the ones from his climax that had splattered Craig's chest and the ones that had helped lubricate his dick as Tweek used his erection as his own dildo. They smell different. The former musky, like the scent of a fox, the latter more of a sweet scent mixed in with something sour. Like raspberries in vinegar.

Craig isn't sure if anybody else can actually smell Tweek on him, but he tries to clean up the best he can after one of their sessions. Which can be difficult when Tweek decides to give him oral at his desk at work or insists on riding him in the bathroom at Jimmy's house in the middle of a barbecue.

Tweek is still lounging on the bed when he returns with a towel around his waist, the heat already causing sweat to drip down his chest. The demon's curled up around himself, tail coiled around his own ankle, watching Craig with his deep red eyes. They're red like fresh blood. Red like a rare steak. Red like a Valentine's card and a bouquet of roses.

“Do you want to go to the mountains this weekend?” he asks Tweek as he rubs the towel through his hair. “We can go hiking in the morning, then we can order Champagne to the suite and fuck in the hot tub?”

Alcohol is the only food that Tweek can actually consume. Probably because it's not really food. He could probably do drugs as well, if Craig has the inclination to supply him with some. He doesn't. Tweek is a lightweight. Expected since he's still a young demon, barely more than an infant at a decade old. He gets buzzed on half a glass of Champagne and cries for Craig to fuck him against the glass where everybody can see.

He always wants to be seen.

Craig isn't sure if Tweek is capable of disguising himself when he's drunk. Even if he is, anybody passing by would still see a thirty-year-old man humping a window.

“I'd rather go to a club,” Tweek says instead, batting his pretty golden eyelashes at Craig imploringly. Craig isn't a fan of the clubs. Tweek is. He lets himself be seen at the clubs and everyone assumes it's a costume. The majority of the time he is forced to stay hidden. He cannot hide his true identity like his mother could. The blond likes to drink fruity cocktails at the bar and let himself be hit on by strange men as Craig seethes from a table across the room. Then he begs for forgiveness when Craig fucks him savagely in the bathroom. Sometimes he whispers suggestions into Craig’s ear when he’s inside of him.

"How about that Billy, that biker who hit on me by the door?” Tweek will ask between soft little gasps. He'll grip at Craig's shoulders and his wings will be spread out beneath him, spanning from one wall of the stall to the other, though they're barely extended. “The one with the tattoos of the thorny rose vines on his throat. I could take him back to our house and ride him as you watch from the closet.” He'll claw at Craig's back, his long nails leaving marks down his flesh. Blood will run down Craig's sides, dripping onto the floor around the toilet. “Imagine being able to watch that. You’d be able to listen to him groan as I give him the best sex of his life. I could make him cum so badly it hurts and I'll keep riding him until the light leaves his eyes and he's nothing but a shapeless heap of dust beneath me.” He'll bite at Craig's shoulder then and arch his hips up higher, wanting it harder, wanting it deeper. Wanting just more. “Wouldn't that be fun? Seeing him having the life sucked out of him right before your eyes?”

Tweek's idea of fun is different than Craig's.

“The Renaissance Faire is in town,” he suggests instead, stopping at the bedside to lovingly stroke Tweek's soft blond hair. He preens beneath him, pushing his head up as if he's asking to be scratched behind his ears. Craig obeys this request, gently scraping his nails at the leathery skin directly behind the little red pointed appendages. They're similar to the skin on his wings, but stiffer. “We'll say you're a wicked Catholic demon chasing after maidenheads if anybody asks.”

“I'm not Catholic,” Tweek replies petulantly, tilting his head to one side.

“Of course you aren't,” Craig agrees. He moves his hand to the little nubbed horns, rubbing their blunt ends. “But Catholics love your sort. Succubi were like trashy romance novels for the peasant women in the Renaissance.”

“I'm an incubus,” Tweek points out with a huff. “My mother was a succubus.”

“And if you tell anybody you're an incubus they'll just think you're a member of moderately successful rock band. Work with me here, babe.”

Tweek rolls his eyes and turns abruptly away from Craig, burrowing into the blankets. He can't go far. Not without Craig's permission. And even when he has permission it hurts him still. He's always the most content when he can be within a five foot radius of his guardian. His caretaker.

Craig had never wanted to be the owner of an incubus. Hell, he hadn't even realized they were real. Not until college, when his best friend had apparently started dating a succubus.

Bebe had claimed to be over two hundred years old at the time. When she and Clyde had sex it was loud and frequent and left Clyde drained for hours after, but it hadn't killed him. She wasn't a newborn like Tweek, she had known how to control those powers. She knew how to feed just a little bit at a time, to take snacks from her lovers, not full meals.

Until she had gotten pregnant. Until she was eating, fucking, for two. Until she had become so ravenous with hunger that she hadn't noticed how drained, how lifeless, Clyde was beneath her.

Craig climbs back into the bed for a moment, ignoring the oppressive heat, and spoons Tweek from behind. He's a temperamental demon, prone to mood swings and sulking. Something he might outgrow someday. But probably long after Craig is dead and buried because he has a feeling it will be a long time before the blond possesses any sense of maturity.

It makes him ache to think of Tweek alone in the world eventually, without himself, without the only other being who has ever loved and cared for him.

Tweek sighs and accepts the pets as usual. His tail wraps around Craig's calf, squeezing tightly like some sort of skinny red snake. The pointed end of it slaps against the skin repeatedly, tenderizing the skin. It reminds Craig of a dog thumping its foot. Maybe it's time he gets him a pet for real. He's been asking for a cat for months now but Craig has been hesitant with what happened to that hamster years ago.

“Darling,” Craig coos into the fluffy mass of hair. He smells nice, like home and sex. “Light of my life. My reason for being. Stop pouting.”

“I'm not pouting,” Tweek says, clearly pouting. “I'm just hungry.”

“Still?” Craig asks, bemused. He kisses the back of Tweek's neck. His lips feel singed. “You're such a little glutton.”

“I'm always hungry,” Tweek states petulantly.

“I know you are.”

He's not a growing demon. Not exactly. Because demons do not age or grow. But he is an adolescent incubus with an appetite to match. It had been easier at the beginning, when he didn't need to feed as much. As often. When four times a day was enough to keep his sated.

He gives him another kiss on the back of his head than stands to dress. He's running late and skips shaving, throwing on the first outfit he pulls from the closet. If he was a good father he'd offer to let Tweek feed on his first coffee break this morning. If he was a better, stronger guardian.

He doesn't think he can do that. He no longer has the ability for the quick recovery he once possessed.

“Come on,” he instructs, adjusting his tie. “We're going to be late for the meeting.”

“I'm tired,” Tweek complains, not turning to look at him. He's just lying there, a lump on the bed. Only his tail moves. It always seem to have a life of its own. It's thumping on the sheets.

“I have to work,” Craig insists, grabbing at his tail and tugging at it. “Stop being lazy. Don't you want to finish reading _Iron Gold_?”

Tweek sighs. “Fine,” he relents, pulling himself up slowly. He slips languidly from between the blankets and trudges after Craig as if he weighed a thousand pounds. He hasn't been flying as much as he used to. Craig wonders if he's becoming more human-like, not being raised by another of his kind. Adapting to Craig's habits. It makes him sad. It feels like taming a wild stallion.

He dresses Tweek up for the long day, covering him in heavy sweaters and sweatpants. Tweek sits obediently at the kitchen table, hand outstretched, as Craig slips the gloves on him. Then he tidies Tweek's hair and slips the hat over his head. He makes sure the ears and horns are all completely hidden beneath the fabric.

It makes Craig chuckle, whenever he sees Tweek ready to go out for the day. The weather outside is beautiful, the southern California desert perfect for a demon, but he can't stand the chill of Craig's office. The air conditioning nearly puts him into hibernation if he isn't heavily bundled.

Tweek is quiet the entire car ride and he sits in the corner of the conference room, dozing with his head against the wall, throughout the entirety of the meeting.

“Are you okay?” Craig asks once they're alone in the bathroom. He pushes up his hat and touches Tweek's forehead. He feels like hot bathwater under his palm. “You're cool.”

“Just tired,” Tweek says with a shrug. Craig slides his hand down the boy's cheek and slips his thumb into Tweek's mouth. He sucks at it obediently until Craig pulls it out of the wet heat. Tweek bites at his lip, watching his guardian, his fingers twitching at his sides. Enough that it's visible despite the bulky gloves. Then he reaches for Craig's trousers, hesitantly, waiting to be refused. Waiting for Craig to slap his hand away. “Maybe feeding will help?”

Craig looks at his charge, at the circles under his eyes, at the grayness of his face, and nods. The flush and full lips and golden skin of this morning has already faded. That quickly the hunger has set in. Tweek bites at the fingers of the gloves, pulling them off. Craig leans against the sink and watches Tweek pull down his zipper.

He doesn't get hard for him. The blond does his best, showing off his innumerable talents, tilting his gaze up to use his incubus stare on Craig. A mesmerizing gaze that can attract the most unwilling prey. He even reaches up to rub at the scent glands on his neck, stimulating them to release his irresistible pheromones.

But Craig's cock doesn't respond.

Tweek whines pathetically as he sucks hopelessly at the soft penis in his mouth. He claws at his hips, kneading him like a kitten trying to nurse from its mother. It begins to hurt, his teeth scraping against the underside of his head and his sharp claws digging into his skin, and Craig really has to get back to his desk.

He pushes Tweek away. But the blond reacts badly, grabbing at Craig's wrist, his claws digging into the soft skin of Craig's inner arm. Craig breathes in quickly, trying not to cry out in pain. He gives him a quick thud against the side of his head and Tweek releases him.

The incubus is crying when he stands up. Craig hugs him, telling him it's okay.

“I'm not angry,” he assures him, knowing that Tweek can't help what he is. That sometimes his body works on instinct.

Tweek continues to weep. Craig holds him for a long time, his arms entirely engulfing the much smaller demon. He fists his hair, the hat falling to the floor. He watches their reflection in the bathroom mirror, sees his own hand covering one of Tweek's ears and a horn.

The fact he can see him in the reflection means that Tweek is not cloaking himself. He might not be able to right now. He's not good at it when he's emotional.

“I'm sorry,” he coos, kissing Tweek's face. His tears taste like his secretions. The same flavor that greets Craig when he rims the demon. He kisses them off his cheeks and eyelids and the delicate chin. He reaches up under his sweater, under his wings, and scratches the skin on his back where they jut out. He likes being touched there.

By the time he gets back to his desk he's wasted too much time and has to skip his lunch break.

Around two, Tweek crawls under his desk and and feeds on his knees. It takes a very long time for him to cum but Craig spreads his legs and caresses Tweek's horns, allowing him to take as long as he needs.

Mr. McKenna's plane is delayed an hour so by the time he lands he has no interest in going out to dinner. He shoves his suitcase at Craig and says “Angelo's still serves wings, right?”

Angelo's is such a seedy place. Craig hates it. But Justin would kill him if he didn't do whatever was needed to make Mr. McKenna happy. So they drive the ten minutes to the bank to stock up on ones and then the twenty minutes to the “gentleman's club.” As if a gentleman would ever be caught dead at a place like this.

What is particularly disgusting about Angelo's is the fact that it's really just a brothel in disguise. And not even a decent brothel. The good thing about that is that all Craig really needs to do is get some food and liquor into his client, wait for him to pick a girl, and then pay her off. It takes maybe two hours in all.

Tweek takes the seat on Craig's other side and watches the girls, making remarks about them. Who smells like sex and who smells like STDs and who smelld like a man in drag. Tweek's sense of smell is spectacular. He's shed his clothes. He likes the absence of air conditioning in the cheap makeshift brothel.

A stripper by the name of Candy comes out dressed like Jessica Rabbit, complete with glittery red shoes. She kicks them off playfully in the crowd and Tweek pockets one of them before anybody notices. Craig hisses at him to drop it but he ignores his command.

One of the girls lures Mr. McKenna into the backroom for a private dance. All three of them know nothing will come out of it, it's an advertisement for what he could get, barely even a sneak preview. Craig tells him to enjoy himself, saying he needs to use the bathroom.

“Gonna go choke the chicken, huh?” Mr. McKenna provokes, the skin of his throat hanging down, the wrinkles around his eyes thin skinned and veined. He must be nearing seventy and he's attempting banter like a frat boy. “Spanking the monkey? Jerking the gherkin?”

“Something like that,” Craig responds, slightly nauseous at the horrible euphemisms.

They're quick. Tweek is excited from being in a place so charged with sex. It's like being at a restaurant and smelling everybody else's food around you but still waiting for the waiter to bring your own. Tweek rides him hard, facing him, his arms around Craig's neck. His thighs press against Craig's own, hot and sleek from Craig's sweat. Tweek's in a kissing mood, he isn't always. He kisses him deeply, his tongue hot in Craig's mouth, only pulling back as he gets close. He sobs as he rides Craig through his orgasm, crying out “Daddy daddy daddy!” As usual, they both come at the same time.

Craig isn't even sure if Tweek can come at a different time. Their orgasms seem linked.

Mr. McKenna picks out a girl who probably isn't even legal and insists that she's the “perfect one” and that her “eyes call to him.” Like he's looking for a soulmate, not a girl to go fuck in the parking lot. Or his hotel room, if he's feeling particularly generous.

“She has herpes,” Tweek giggles, energized from feeding. He pokes at Craig's ribs. “And she's having an outbreak.”

Craig tries to convince Mr. McKenna to choose a different girl. He threatens to talk to one of their competitors next week.

What does he really care? Let this disgusting old pervert pick up herpes from a girl younger than his granddaughter and bring them home to his wife of forty years. He pays off the girl. Her eyes are pretty beneath all the makeup but they look dead in her young face.

They're walking to the car when she appears. A dark haired woman dressed in a short leather miniskirt and a low cut halter top. She approaches in quick strides, an expert on her stilettos, and Craig turns quickly to rebuff her. He has no interest in prostitutes, or strippers, or crack whores. Whatever she may be.

But she stalks right past him, behind him, and reaches down to grab Tweek by the cheeks. She stares into his eyes, brow furrowed. The incubus makes a high pitched yelp of surprise and struggles against her, trying to pull away from her hands.

“Let go,” he cries out, attempting to shake his head from her grasp. She must be stronger than she looks because Tweek is unable to break free.

“Stop it,” Craig demands, grabbing her by the arm. She whips around so quickly Craig doesn't even see the movement of her body, just a flash of black hair and red eyes. Claw marks appear on his cheek. He grabs at his face, the blood taking a moment to well up. The slices into his flesh had been so quick.

“Don't touch me,” she hisses. Then she demands to know, “Are you his father?”

“What? No!” Craig exclaims, disturbed by the idea of what that would mean if he was Tweek's father. How inappropriate their relationship would be classified as.

“I didn't think so,” she sneers. Her face, though beautiful, becomes fiendish. The hollow of her throat deepens. There's a necklace hanging between her breasts and it fall between the hollow. It's a pentagram. “You have the wrong blood type. Why is a human with an unmasked fledgling incubus?” She turns to Tweek, her voice softening. “Honey, how are you even cloaking yourself right now? You're clearly exhausted.”

“You're like him,” Craig realizes, thinking about that flash of red iris. “You're a succubus.”

He wants to get Tweek away from this woman. A demon. Bebe had been nice enough, but there is no guarantee all demons are pleasant individuals. Even Tweek lashes out sometimes, with claws and teeth. What if she kills Tweek to rid herself of competition?

“Sweetie, I think you should come with me,” the woman says, ignoring Craig's observation. She gently wraps her hand around Tweek's wrist. Her claws are visible. Craig hadn't realized it was possible to only expose a few features of their real form, it had always seemed all or nothing. “You need to eat. You smell like you're starving.”

“Wait, no,” Craig protests, grabbing at Tweek's other hand. “He's my charge. If he feeds off anyone else they'll die.”

“That's to be expected,” she brushes off his comment as easily as she brushes off his touch. “They can't help themselves at this age.”

“Daddy,” Tweek whimpers, gripping onto his hand as she tries to pull him along with her. He's strong, but she's stronger. Craig's shoulder aches as the other two pull him along.

“Where are his parents,” she asks, pausing and turning to Craig. “If you're not his father then who is?”

“His father is dead,” he breathes out, muscles straining. He's still pulling at Tweek's arm but she's standing there absolutely still, not budging despite the two males fighting her grip. “His father is dead. His mother is dead. I'm all he has.”

“What did you do, call him forth with a spell?” she asks, her voice going harsh again. She sounds angry and Craig doesn't understand why. “Are you part witch? Did you blood bind him to you when he attempted to feed?”

“His mother made me promise to take care of him before she died,” he says, pleadingly. “His father was my best friend. My oldest friend.”

She stops pulling suddenly, arm dropping to her side. But she's still holding Tweek's hand.

“She killed the father?” she guesses.

“It was an accident.”

“Of course it was,” she replies, voice softening again. “Succubi can only get pregnant if they're in love with their mate. It ensures the father is still around, to take care of the fledgling afterwards.”

“Please, he's my responsibility.”

She nods, but she stares at Tweek uncertainly. He shivers under her stare. Her eyes glow brighter red than Tweek's ever have.

“We need to talk,” she decides.

Her name is Wendy. She doesn't give a last name. Just says “We don't use last names.” Not that she doesn't have one, but that she doesn't use it.

She takes them to her house. It's a monstrosity of a mansion, overlooking acres of vineyards. The house is empty when they enter, but warm. It smells like food. Which seems odd since Craig knows demons cannot eat real food. Or at least, his demon cannot eat real food.

Wendy grabs a bottle of wine from a rack near the patio doors and leads them outside. The patio is lit by fairy lights and she starts a fire in the pit before them, despite it being a rather warm summer evening.

Tweek moves close to the fire, extending his arms out to feel the heat. Craig grabs his wrist to stop him from touching the flames.

He falls asleep quickly before the flames as the other two talk, curling up to Craig's side as he blinks sleepily at the fire crackling before him. Wendy only allows him half a glass of wine, saying fledglings can't drink that much. It puts him down so quickly he doesn't even finish that half a glass.

“Succubi and incubus cannot mate each other,” she explains over her own wine, once Tweek has already dozed off. She's playing with one of half a dozen rings on her fingers. They all sparkle under in the light of the flames. “Sex is how we feed so it would result only in depletion, never creation.”

“That makes sense,” Craig says, his fingers in Tweek's hair, massaging his scalp. He breathes slowly and evenly against Craig's leg.

“Were you there when his mother died?”

He nods, remembering the incident acutely. It's tinted with both pain and joy, now, thinking of what was lost and what was gained.

Bebe had been a lovely young woman, he had never seen her true form until the day she had died. Didn't even know she was a succubus until Clyde had told Craig about getting her pregnant. “Thing is,” Clyde had laughed as he awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, “I want to ask you to be the godfather but this baby might have some...irregularities.”

Irregularities. What an understatement.

The entire experience had been horrifying. Her death had been slow, agonizing. He still has nightmares, remembering the way her red eyes stared at her feet as they began to turn to stone. The way she had cried as she lost feeling in her fingers.

Craig had wiped the tears from her face once she lost the ability to lift her arms. Her face had been the last remnants of soft skin.

It had taken hours from the moment the first gray appeared on the tip of her toes until she moved no more. She had told him it hurt, when it was changing, but afterwards she felt nothing. Her legs had been completely numb by that point.

“I wish I could see my baby,” had been a few of her last words. Her eyes had already been hardened over by then. She looked like a statue with its eyes open but she couldn't see. She told him everything was black. “Humans are so lucky to be able to raise their children.”

She feared death. She knew nothing about what comes after, didn't know if demons had souls to move on.

Bebe had gone still for a long time after her last words had been spoken. A simple request for Craig to “Please love our child.”

As if that's something you can have control over.

As if Craig could ever had the choice to not love Tweek completely, obsessively, with never ending devotion.

And God, he had wished for Clyde at that moment. His best friend should've been there, experiencing this, with Craig at his side. He couldn't do enough to comfort that poor succubus.

She may have been trapped in that statue for an hour or more. She was still. She didn't breathe, didn't talk. But that didn't mean she wasn't still alive in there. Trapped like a butterfly in a cocoon. That didn't mean she wasn't aware. That she couldn't still think and grieve and panic.

Craig talked to her for that long hour. He told her stories his mother had told him as a child. He told her the story of Three Billy Goats Gruff and the Gingerbread Man and about the Lion and the Unicorn.

When the first cracks appeared on her face it had been a relief. A signal to the end. A confirmation she was truly gone, and that, hopefully, she was now with Clyde in the afterlife.

And it had been mildly terrifying.

She cracked apart like an egg, the small hairline fractures cutting across her stone skin. The flesh crumbled into dust, tumbling onto the bed in heaps of fluffy gray ash.

And sitting there, naked and sticky and covered in the dusty remains of his mother, had been a beautiful teenage boy. Or rather, he looked like a human male in his late teens.

But he was the equivalent of a demon infant. He appeared already knowing how to speak and walk and fly.

It was as if he had inherited the traits and thoughts through his mother. He spoke English and French and Italian, but became absolutely confounded at the Japanese market or one of the Mexican bakeries. He knew how to read but couldn't name a book. He could play the piano by ear but couldn't read music.

He called Craig “Papa,” a slight accent to the pronunciation.

“I'm not your Papa,” he had replied, voice cracking. His Papa was dead. His Papa should be here for him.

“Daddy,” the newborn demon had called him instead, the accent disappearing.

He said his name was to be Tweek.

“Daddy's here, Tweek,” Craig had assured him, putting his arms around him, holding him close. “Daddy will take care of you.”

Craig wondered if his mother had named him. If she had said it aloud over and over again as she touched her chest, trying to feel his spirit inside of her. “Your name is Tweek and your mommy loves you. Your name is Tweek and your Papa loved you. Your name is Tweek and your Daddy will love you.”

He knew how to walk, he had the muscle memory, but he was wobbly. It was like leading a newborn baby giraffe to the bathtub. He asked Daddy why he poured water over him and seemed confused by the blood that stained the bathwater pink.

He knew how to feed. Still slippery with shampoo suds, he had climbed atop of Craig's unwilling body, sinking down on him with the expertise of a high class courtesan.

He walked like a clumsy beast but he fucked like a street walker.

It had been more than a terrifying experience. Heart attack inducing. All he had known about demon sex is they could kill humans with it. It was the best sex he had ever had though and as the innocent demonic being had rode him to orgasm, Craig decided he was perfectly fine dying at the hands of such a beautiful creature.

But Craig hadn't died.

The bartender that Tweek had fed off of a week later did.

“She cast guardianship over her son,” she explains. “Normally, we do that with the father before we pass. Though, sometimes the fathers don't want that.”

“Why wouldn't they want guardianship over their own children?” Craig asks, disturbed by the very idea of rejecting your own offspring. Surely, Clyde wouldn't have rejected his own son because of a few horns and wings. He must've known that Tweek would come out like his mother, but he had still asked Craig to be his godfather. He had been proud of the fact he was to be a father, despite everything. Despite the sadness of knowing he would lose his lover.

“Some fathers do not want guardianship because,” Wendy says, looking up to meet his eyes. They're the exact same shade of red as Tweek's in this lighting. “Some men do not take well to having sexual relations with their own children.”

Is that the cost of guardianship over a succubus? The requirement that you'll keep them from going hungry? Craig supposes that's the same with humans. Public breastfeeding seems positively a non-issue in comparison.

He tries to imagine if Clyde had lived. How would this have gone? Tweek barely looks like Clyde, inheriting most of his appearance from his mother. He has her golden skin, her beautiful eyes, her bright blond hair. But his hair is straight like Clyde's, not curly as hers had been. And he has inherited the scattering of close-knit freckles on Clyde's nose. Craig tries to imagine him mating with Tweek, his own son feeding off him, and finds the image is less disturbing that he would've thought.

“So what's why he doesn't kill me?”

“That's why he can't kill you,” she corrects him. “He's clearly...” she glances down at the demon asleep in Craig's lap, “Fond of you. So it's a good thing the protection spell is still in place. It only lasts about ten or fifteen years, on average.”

It's nice to know Tweek has genuine affection for him, but to know he could kill him at any point from here on out is pretty bad. He might have another five years but Jesus. Is there any warning? Maybe the fact he's getting tired out lately is a warning. He just thought it was because of so many years keeping up this schedule.

“He's very sick,” she tells him. “Were you truly not aware?”

“He's been tired lately,” he admits, voice tight. He feels bad for ignoring the symptoms. He knew something seemed off but what does he know about the normal development of an adolescent demon? Human teenagers are usually sleepy as well.

“It's because he's starving,” she explains. She reaches out to touch one of his tiny, calf-like horns. “These should be a good two inches longer by now. And they're soft like stiff rubber. They should be hard as rock after the first year.”

“I didn't know,” he says softly. His voice chokes up as he continues. “I try my best. I try so hard but I'm so tired all the time.”

“Fledglings aren't supposed to be monogamous,” she says, laying a hand on Craig's arm. “It's not your fault. Even at my age I sometimes need to feed outside my marriage.”

“How old are you?” he asks, surprised at the thought of a succubus being in a marriage. But not wanting to offend her by saying so.

“I'm 672 years old, give or take,” she replies, lifting her chin proudly. She definitely possesses a sense of dignity that Tweek lacks.

“How do you know all this? How would you know what's normal?”

“My father is an incubus,” she explains. “I have many half siblings, and many nieces and nephews. Incubus do not die when they reproduce. My father falls in love easily, I'm sad to say.” She looks down at Tweek again and brushes a few strands of hair from his eyes. “Hell, this boy might be a nephew of mine. We're a very large family.”

“Your father is still alive?”

“Yes,” she smiles. Her fangs show. They're longer than Tweek's. “As is my grandfather. My great-grandmother was a succubus though, so that's where our lineage ends.”

“His mother's name was Bebe,” Craig tells her. “If that's familiar.”

She shakes her head. “That doesn't mean we aren't related though. We lose track of the lines through the centuries.”

Wendy only finishes one glass of wine but she offers Craig a second once his is finished and he accepts it. It's much higher quality wine than he has tasted in the past. She says it's a Sangiovese. Grown from her own vineyard.

“So I need to share him?” he asks, already fearing but knowing the answer.

“Unless you want him to die,” she replies. “And I don't think you want that.”

  
Craig shakes his head.

“There have been a few, in the past,” he admits, “He's went behind my back, when I was sleeping or busy, and seduced strangers. They always died. But he seemed to have more energy afterwards. I guess I knew, but I didn't want to think about it.” He pauses and drains the last of his wine. She pours him a third glass. “I want to say it's only because I don't want anybody to die, but I'm also jealous. I don't want anybody else to touch him.”

“Human emotions,” she says, nodding understandably. “My husband doesn't care for it either. But we make a game of it. He likes men as well, we go hunting together and share them.”

“But you don't kill them?”

  
“No,” she admits. “I haven't had to kill during feeding in a very long time.”

“And you're able to hide your true form,” Craig points out. “Tweek can't do that.”

“He's too weak to,” she tells him. “It isn't that he can't, any demon after the age of two should be able to, but it takes more concentration than just cloaking yourself completely. Would you like to see my true form?”

Craig nods, nerves loosened by the alcohol. She smiles and like that is transformed, no graduality involved, no blurry transition as Tweek so often has.

Her horns are huge. Large, spiraled things atop her head, they fold back upon themselves, curling several times, before jutting backwards. Her wings may be slightly larger than Tweek's as well, but her tail is definitely longer and thicker. Less like a grass snake, more like a cobra.

“Were you born this way?” he asks.

She shakes her head, still smiling. Her fangs are nearly down to her chin now.

“No, my horns and tail were even smaller than your boy's at one time. We don't age but our horns never stop growing. Though the growth is very slow. I know my horns are much larger than his but after the initial growth spurt the first couple decades the growth becomes barely noticeable.”

She's mildly terrifying to look at. But also stunningly beautiful. She looks only slighter older than Tweek, probably due to the makeup and hair, but she holds herself like somebody much older.

Craig realizes she probably looks like what a succubus should look like according to popular media, with her large horns and wings. Still dressed in that ridiculously tight hooker garb. Like the cover of some 80's metal album, she should probably be posed with a white tiger and a bulky sports car.

Who would marry an intimidating woman like this? Her husband is probably some large biker clad in leather with a beard down to his naval.

“You're not reacting to me,” she smirks. She leans forward, her cleavage nearly spilling from her top, and touches his knee. “I can't smell a hint of arousal coming from you. He really has drained you, hasn't he?”

“I'm gay,” Craig replies, shifting uncomfortably beneath her eyes. The movement upsets Tweek's head and he makes an annoyed whining noise. Craig pets his head, soothing him, and he nuzzles back into Craig's lap. He can smell Craig through his work slacks and burrows his head deeper into his crotch. His mouth is wet against the fabric as he falls back asleep suckling at the thin barrier between his lips and Craig's genitals.

“You're letting him languish,” Wendy says, sitting back again, watching them. “You've nurtured his immaturity. He needs to learn to fend for himself. You won't be around forever.”

“He's barely ten,” Craig protests, watching him sleep. A small smile of affection touches his lips. “He needs to be protected. It's my job to take care of him.”

“He's an incubus,” she insists. Her voice has gone stern. “He isn't a human and he isn't your son.”

“He's just not ready,” he shakes his head at the thought of it. Tweek is so innocent and naive in some ways. He couldn't imagine him out there hunting on his own. He can't even figure out how a bus schedule works.

“He'll never be ready,” she says. “Craig, I'm going to let you in on a secret of our kind. We are very, very lazy. I lived at home until I was nearly a hundred because I didn't feel like learning how to live on my own. I still don't do anything work related. My husband takes care of me and that's how I like it. As long as you continue to coddle him, he will just sleep and feed and make excuses to not do anything else.”

“Honey?” A voice cuts through the air so suddenly Craig nearly jumps, only stilling himself to stop from disturbing Tweek again. “What're you-oh. You have a visitor.”

Craig cranes his neck to try to look behind him. Obviously, Wendy's husband has made an appearance. His eyes go up, looking for a six foot four biker with black hair and tattoos.

Standing there, looking tired in a pair of overalls and and a white t-shirt, is a small blond man of maybe five foot six. He's very petite, he makes Tweek look like a giant. Pale with white blond hair and elfin eyes, the corners slightly tipped up at the corners. They're a crystalline blue in color. He smiles at Craig, hesitantly, and approaches.

“Didn't mean to disturb you,” the man apologizes, “I was just...” He trails off, spotting Tweek in Craig's lap. Tweek, who is completely passed out, not even attempting to cloak himself. This new man furrows his brow and looks towards Wendy. “That, that isn't Kenny, is it?”

Wendy chuckles and waves a hand to the man.

“Craig, this is my husband, Butters. Butters, this is Craig. I think you two have a lot in common. Honey, have a glass of wine with us. We have to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Name one other fic where Clyde and Bebe are Tweek's parents. Go ahead.


	2. You've Got the Mark of the Beast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are all a bunch of perverts. Why weren't you disturbed by the fact Craig is fucking his godson?!

Love me cancerously  
How's your new boy?  
Does he know about me?  
You've got the mark of the beast  
You're born of a jackal!  
You're beautiful!  
-Love Me Dead, Ludo

* * *

Butters is a pixie of a man. Tiny, pale with small hands, smooth skin, and dimples. His nose is barely a smudge on a heart-shaped face.

He doesn't seem like the type of man who should be married to a succubus. He seems like the type of man that would take one look at Wendy with her horns and fangs and immediately piss himself.

But he sits there beside his wife, her hand on his knee, watching her admiringly as if she were the sun itself. As if she were a super model or a princess or a unicorn. Something wholly good and beautiful and full of light.

Even sitting down it's obvious that she's taller than him. The top of his chin only comes to about her nose. His shoulders are narrow, his hips no existent. And with her horns and wings still fully exposed he looks like some sort of snack for a more sinister sort of demon.

Craig's mentally envisioning a collar around the man's neck, the handle of the leash in Wendy's hand. That is the only way this relationship makes sense. He has to be some sort of sex slave, at the succubus' beck and call whenever she needs to feed. He looks like he'd never survive a round with Tweek, let alone this woman.

“I had inventory today,” Butters explains, his voice giddy at the prospect of meeting somebody new. He's opening another bottle of wine; a Petit Syrah. His fingers are elegant and long and he twirls the corkscrew with a sense of expertise. The last of the Sanviovese is gone. He says the Petit Syrah goes well with the brie that he had grabbed from the kitchen when he excused himself to pick out the wine. “I normally only work until six but Fridays are my inventory night. I like to know what we have in stock before the weekend rush.”

“He runs the tasting room,” Wendy explains, her eyes not leaving her husband. She licks her lips as she watches him. Her tail flutters on the couch beside her. “For the winery. He's the face of our company. And what a pretty face he is.”

“Oh gee, I guess I am,” Butters flushes charmingly. He smiles at his wife. His teeth are miraculously white and straight. He either was born extremely lucky or had an excellent orthodontist growing up. The young man fills Craig's glass with the red wine. He's already feeling buzzed on the first three but he can't refuse to at least taste this new varietal. He thanks the man and feels thankful for the cheese and crackers to absorb some of the alcohol in his stomach.

“So you're like, a sommelier or something?” Craig asks after he swallows another mouthful of musty-tasting cheese. He's more of a Manchego fan himself. Though with Tweek needing his constant attention he's more of a Kraft Mac n Cheese person in experience.

“Nothing that fancy,” Butters says, shaking his head. He sticks a bunny shaped wine stopper into the top of the fresh bottle. “I didn't go to school for it or anything. I just like wine a whole lot.”

“It's in his blood,” Wendy explains. Craig can tell she's hungry by how she's watching Butters' lips move. She reaches up to stroke the back of Butters' neck, her claws scraping lightly. Craig catches Butters' shiver. She keeps her fingers there, resting on the nape of his neck. “He's part nymph, you see.”

“Well, that's what she tells me, anyway,” Butters shrugs off her words. He leans over to help himself to one of the fancy artisan cracks. Craig is surprised he isn't sick of crackers and brie, isn't that what everyone serves at wineries? He'd imagine it'd be like a McDonald's employee coming home from work and snacking on McNuggets. “I don't know anything about nymphs.”

“They're good at growing things,” Wendy says, turning her eyes to Craig. She smiles knowingly at him, as if they're sharing a secret. Her hand, the one not resting on his neck, slips up from Butters' knee to his thigh. The young man doesn't seem to notice. “They're good at making wine. They're good at sex.”

“I'm good at a lot of things, I guess,” Butters brushes off her compliments. Craig is somewhat surprised that he doesn't react at all to the acknowledgment of his sexual prowess. “It's not like I make the wine on my own, there's a whole bunch of us that work in the cellars.”

“He's being modest,” she teases, squeezing at his thigh. Her claws leave indents in the denim of his overalls. “He doesn't have enough nymph in him to be truly mischievous.”

“What is a nymph, exactly?” Craig asks, unsure if they're taunting him or not. This is starting to feel like a peep show. Which isn't something he can exactly complain about with Tweek still buried face first into his crotch, sucking at the front of Craig's slacks in his sleep. Unconsciously, he fingers one of Tweek's horns, his thumb stroking the smoothness of the little nub.

“An extinct species,” Wendy drawls. She steals Butters' glass from his hand, moving suddenly, a blur of skin. Butters doesn't notice the glass is gone until the rim fails to meet his lips. It's disconcerting how quickly she moves between speed and lethargy. “Not human, not demon. Not quite angel, either.” She sips at the wine and holds it out of his reach when Butters tries to take it back from her. He's like a child trying to take a toy back from his mother. “I suppose if a succubus is the child of a human and a demon then a nymph is the child of a human and an angel. They commune with nature. It's sort of their thing. I don't let Butters spend too much time in the vineyards though, he burns so easily. But just having him near them helps the crops.” Butters grabs the wine back from her and she retaliates by grabbing his hand before he can totally pull away and biting at his pinkie. He makes a pained noise and she releases him with a smirk. “Isn't he cute?”

“Um, yeah, sure,” Craig replies uncertainly. Yeah, Butters is attractive enough, if you're into that sort. There's something a bit too soft about him for Craig's liking. Not that Tweek is the epitome of masculinity but he doesn't seem so much like a, well, marshmallow.

“He's like a pocket sized snack,” she chuckles. “Oh, stop glaring at me dear. I meant it as a compliment”

“Are all nymphs so, um...small?”

Wendy shrugs lazily. She leans against Butters' arm, nuzzle at the side of his neck now. Butters shifts uncomfortably beneath her weight.

“I've never seen a true nymph. Father says there aren't any pure nymphs left in the world that he knows of, they all died years ago. The pure ones are dependent on their native soil, you see, they can't survive industrialization.” Butters mutters something about 'stupid smog' and Wendy kisses him on the cheek before continuing. “When they breed with humans their offspring become hybrids. They aren't like my kind. Their genes don't overtake their mate's. And Butters is the only nymph I've ever known. Though I did recognize him immediately for what he was. He exudes sexual energy.”

“So if you two were to breed...” Craig trails off, knowing the subject is a tricky one. She wouldn't survive a birth. Or would she? Would they create a hybrid that could be born like a normal child? Does Wendy even possess a womb?

“That's the handy thing,” Wendy replies. Her hand moves up Butters' leg, sliding over his crotch to cup at the bulge between his legs. The blond jumps, nearly dropping his only recently reclaimed glass of red. “Nymph cannot reproduce with my kind. We are incompatible.”

“Oh.” Craig watches the hand between the young man's legs. She's barely stimulating him, just holding him more than anything, but he's already getting hard. It takes a lot more than that for Craig to become aroused these days. “But you can feed off him?”

“I can feast on him,” she corrects him. “Nymphs, even partial nymphs, have supreme sexual energy. Cute, horny, and unable to impregnate me. He's my perfect mate.”

“Well gee, honey, I thought I was more than that to you?” Craig notes how sincere that thought comes forth and wonders if it was supposed to be sarcastic. The worried look on the man's face makes him think it probably wasn't.

“Don't try to make me go gushy in front of company, dear.”

Honestly, this entire image is confounding. This is the image of sexual vitality? This boy, and he really is only a boy compared to Craig, can't weigh more than a hundred and thirty, soaking wet. And he's breathing heavily, almost panting, from just a casual brush against his penis. He seems like a virgin schoolboy who's teacher just accidentally brushed her tits against his shoulder, not some sexual virtuoso.

He doesn't even spare a glance at Craig when he leans over to kiss his wife. His hand gropes at her breasts and he presses his hips up into her hand. Wendy moans into his mouth. Craig wonders if they're going to do it with him right there.

Tweek suddenly stirs to life, his head lifting. He's sniffing at the air. Sniffing like he senses something he likes.

Craig scratches him behind the ears and tells him to go back to sleep.

“Hungry,” he complains, already reaching for Craig's crotch.

“No,” Craig admonishes him, trying to push his hand away. His claws scrape at his knuckles. It's only been maybe two hours since the bathroom in the strip club, there's no way he's up for another go already. “Darling, stop it. I can't do that right now.”

“They're doing it,” Tweek objects, looking towards the other couple on the other side of the table. Butters' hand has disappeared up her skirt, Wendy is panting into her husband's mouth. Tweek's voice sounds desperate as he grips Craig's thighs. “Daddy, I'm hungry.”

Wendy appears by Craig's side as if she had merely teleported there. He didn't see her get up, didn't hear her steps. He has no idea how she managed to disentangle herself from her husband's arms so quickly.

“Your daddy is too tired,” she shushes at the young incubus. She extends her hand for Tweek to take and he does so, looking confused. He looks pale, his eyes dim. Tweek's wings brush against Craig's face as he is pulled up and he shuts his eyes before one of the sharp points snag him. “Come on honey. I have something new for you to eat.”

Numbed by too much wine, Craig is too stunned to react for a moment, left sitting alone on the patio as the other three disappear back into the house. But then he's up, hurrying after them. He knows what they're planning but he doesn't want it. His shoes pound against the tile of the mansion as he catches up to the threesome.

“I'll take care of him,” he insists, grabbing for Tweek around the succubus' arm. His fingers barely grave Tweek's soft hair. One of Wendy's wings shoots out, blocking him. It wraps around the incubus' shoulder protectively.

“Don't be absurd,” she brushes off his comment, not even turning to look at him. “You know you're too drained to feed him.”

“Please, don't,” he begs. He tries to grab at her but there's nothing to grab, just expanses of leathery wing. He could grab the top of her wing but he's afraid of tearing the thin membrane.

Logically, he knows he isn't the only man Tweek has ever been with but he's Tweek's only living lover. Tweek is his and he is Tweek's. Whatever he is: father, lover, mate, feast. He'll be whatever Tweek wants him to be as long as Tweek is his in return.

Wendy holds him back as Butters leads Tweek to the bed. Tweek's letting Butters kiss him and Craig can do nothing but tremble with anger in Wendy's tight grip. The young man is in charge, albeit very gingerly. One of his hands is touching Tweek's hip, the other rests on his face. Tweek leans into the kisses, melting like gooey ice cream against the nymph.

Wendy's wings are around Craig now, holding him close against the front of her body. She isn't as tall as him, she watches them over his shoulder. She smells like arousal. Not quite like Tweek, but more similar to him than to any human. He can feel her breasts pressing against his back, her breathing labored with arousal and hunger. Her claws dig into Craig's collar.

“You need to get used to this,” she whispers in his ear, her voice a snake-like hiss. “If you don't get used to this he will die.”

She loosens her grip on him enough to allow him to wipe at his eyes. He considers trying to make a break for it, wiggle from her grasp, but knows it's pointless to even try.

Butters undresses between kisses. Despite his smallness, he is indeed several inches shorter than Tweek, he takes charge. Craig flushes with embarrassment when the man's cock is exposed, he's bigger than himself. Tweek reaches for it, his fingers encircling the length, but Butters reaches down and pries the finger off his length. He's ready, he doesn't need to be prepared like Tweek so often does for Craig. He lays Tweek on his back, his wings long enough to drape over both edges of the bed, and takes him face to face. Tweek tries to look over Butters' shoulder.

“Where's Daddy?” he asks, pushing at the smaller man's shoulders.

“Daddy's watching,” Butters assures him as he pushes in. Tweek's arms and legs both go around the small, pale body. The talons on the end of his wings curl up.

It hurts Craig to watch this. The incubus claws at Butters' back and makes those happy gasping noises he usually makes for Craig. Butters presses his full weight into the demon, his hips moving rhythmically in a way that can only mean one thing. Despite his smallness the man has a rather round butt and Craig watches the roundness of it tighten and loosen as he pounds into his godson. Tweek's tail thumps on the bed for awhile and then wraps around one of Butters' legs. Possessive. Like he does to Craig when he's content.

By the time he has Tweek purring, Craig's face is wet with tears.

“He's just feeding,” Wendy reminds him, her lips wet against his ear. “Butters is my husband. He belongs to me like Tweek belongs to you. This doesn't change that.”

“I know,” Craig swallows, fighting back the tightness in his throat. He wipes at his face again. The salt in them make his cheeks sting.

“What if he was a human?” Wendy asks, her voice steady and reasoning, as if she were a teacher trying to explain a math problem to a student. “What if Butters had just cooked him a meal? It's no different than that.”

But it's different. Maybe she is faking ignorance, maybe she is trying to downplay the impact, but it's different. This isn't like somebody cooking Tweek a meal, this is like somebody sitting on Tweek's lap and hand-feeding it to him. There's a window seat to one side of the room and Wendy leads him to it, letting her wings folds back up behind her. She still grips him by the wrist though, as a precaution. In case he loses control of himself and attacks her husband. He pulls back as far as he can in the seat, his back pressed against the panes of the window. They feel warmer than the rest of the room, maybe heated from the late afternoon sun despite the darkness of the evening. He wraps his arms around his knees and rests his chin on them as he watches and waits.

It goes on for a long time. Much longer than Craig has ever lasted with him. Probably close to an hour. It makes him feel sick. He knows Tweek would've loved to feed for an hour in the past but Craig has never had that stamina. Even when he has trouble getting hard he can't last more than maybe fifteen minutes once he's there.

Tweek is purring so loudly Craig can feel the vibration in his chest, even from across the room. His purr is much deeper than his speaking voice, deeper than any house cat. He's on his back which, while not unheard of, isn't their usual way. For the most part, Craig lacks the energy to be on top. He just doesn't have the stamina to drill Tweek into the bed multiple times a day, though he knows the incubus would love if he did. He likes being seen to, to be taken care of. But that isn't how it usually pans out. Normally, it's easier on Craig just to let Tweek take charge, let him ride him to completion.

Craig watches Tweek press his hips up with each of Butters' thrust. The muscles in his legs are tight as he grips Butters around the waist, his toes curl with pleasure. He's gripping Butters in his arms and legs like he's a mouse trapped within the coils of a boa constrictor. At one point his nails dig into the other man's back and he pulls down, leaving six streaks of crimson. Even the sight of blood causes jealousy to course through Craig's body.

Butters stiffens against the pain of his skin because sliced open and his hips still. Craig goes to stand, afraid what he'll do to his charge, afraid he'll lash out to him. Wendy holds him back. He catches the quiet murmuring of the blond's voice as he says something to the incubus. Craig can't make out the words but the tone of his voice is reprimanding. Tweek whines pathetically and his hips press up, wanting more. Butters mutters something else and Tweek's grip loosens, claws withdrawing from the marks on his back. Butters sits up, pulling back, and grabs hold of Tweek's hands. He entwines their fingers and presses the clawed hands to the bed beside Tweek's head. The demon looks up at him, eyes adoring.

Tweek doesn't fight back. Butters holds his hands down, holding him in place, and goes back to fucking Tweek into the bed. And Craig knows he's obeying. Tweek is strong. Much stronger than he looks. He's thrown Craig against walls and knocked him over without meaning to. If Tweek wanted to he could grab Butters by the arm and yank at him until his arm popped out of its socket. But he isn't fighting Butters. He just lies beneath him, making those little whimpery noises, and takes what is being given to him.

By the time Wendy separates them Butters is covered in a sheen of sweat and his body trembles from the effort

She leaves Craig alone in the window and joins them in bed. Grabbing Butters by the hair, she yanks his head back to hiss instructions into his ear.

“Come now. He's almost drained you completely.”

Butters head snaps forward once she releases him and he nods obediently. He grabs Tweek's skinny hips and pulls him up higher and pounds into him fast and loud. The bed bangs against the wall. The motion sends wafts of that raspberry vinegar scent in Craig's direction. Normally, that smell will bring him to arousal, but there's no stirring in his slacks.

It only lasts maybe another twenty seconds.

Tweek sobs through his orgasm and Craig rushes to him in worry. Wendy doesn't stop him as he hurries by her.

But he's fine. He whines out a “Daddy!” and curls around Craig's body, his fangs going for the crook between his shoulder and throat. He bites at the area, his teeth not penetrating the cloth of his work shirt.

He's wet with the other man's sweat. He smells like sex and another man's cum. There's another man's blood on his claws.

“How are you?”

“I'm, I'm not hungry,” Tweek says, wonder clearly evident in his voice. His eyes look brighter as he looks towards the window where Craig has been sitting for nearly an hour. He wonders what he's looking for.

Craig spares a glance at the only other human in the room. Butters lays still on his back with his eyes closed. Wendy's sitting next to him, her legs crossed beneath her. She meets Craig's eyes.

“He'll be fine,” she assures him, reaching out to lay her palm on Butters' chest. “He's just been drained to almost nothing. Your boy was very hungry. I won't be able to feed off him for a couple days.”

“And you?” Craig asks. Tweek nuzzles deeper into his throat. He's still purring, though quieter now, with contentment. It vibrates through Craig's own body. “You didn't get to feed.”  
“I'll be alright. A well-fed succubus can go a few days without any ill effects and I fed only this afternoon. I'll take your boy hunting with me tomorrow evening.” She looks back up at him, eyes going dark. “This doesn't mean you can skip it though. He's still close to starvation. He can't skip meals.”

Craig nods, though his heart is in his throat with worry. He doesn't want to see Tweek feeding off another man. Just watching him with Butters had been so difficult. He wants to take him to the bath and clean the scent of the other man off him. He'll take him home and feed him sometime tonight and make him smell like himself again.

“The men will die,” Wendy adds slowly, as if speaking to a small child. “They have to. I'll start working with him to teach him how to not drain them completely but it won't be immediate. You know that, right?”

He nods again, not trusting himself to speak. He tilts his head to kiss at Tweek's left ear. It twitches beneath his lips.

“And I think for now it's best if you stay out of it,” she says finally. She lays down, curling up next to Butters' unconscious, unmoving body. “Sharing can be fun, but I don't think you're ready for that yet. Not until he learns how to let them live.”

Craig nods once more, in total agreement with that final statement. Tweek is a demon. He knows he is a demon. He's not as innocent and sweet as he appears at first glance. But he'd prefer to keep that image in his head as long as possible. He'll do anything for Tweek, he'll get rid of the bodies if they ask, but he doesn't want to see his charge kill another man.

 

* * *

 

Turns out, Craig is not appointed the task of disposing of the bodies as he assumed he would be. They'll be bringing the men back to Wendy's mansion, it's much easier to dispose of a corpse in the rural countryside than Craig's suburban house, and the first night there is already a man waiting there to help them.

Well, no. Not exactly.

There's already an incubus waiting there to help them.

He introduces himself as Kenny.

“Oh, Butters wasn't lying,” Kenny exclaims, grabbing onto Tweek excitedly the moment the door swings open. “He is a cutie! Hello sweetie, you can call me Uncle Kenny.”

“Excuse me,” Craig says gruffly, pulling Tweek back from the incubus' claws.

“I wasn't going to hurt him!” Kenny objects, flicking back a lock of blond hair that's fallen over his eyes. He watches Craig for a moment, his eyes piercing with such intensity for a moment that he's sure this new incubus is reading his mind. That might be something they can do, he hasn't been told otherwise. Kenny smirks, his fangs showing. “Interesting.”

“What's interesting?” Craig challenges, his voice nearly a growl. He holds Tweek close to him, covering his head with his hand, but Tweek turns to look at Kenny anyway. His ears tilt to listen to Kenny's words.

“How much you love an incubus,” Kenny muses, still staring at him. He scratches at the side of his nose with a claw and sucks at his teeth. Then he laughs. “Remember how he looks today. This demon will take your life some day, mark my word.”

He laughs again and pulls Tweek back from Craig's arms, holding him close around the waist and nuzzling at Tweek's wild blond hair. Tweek wiggles against him, trying to get away. Craig scowls.

He doesn't look like Tweek at all. He's tall, over six feet, with much harder features. More movie star handsome than angelic beauty. Somehow, Craig had assumed all incubi would resemble his charge. Small and lithe and innocent.

“Where's Wendy?” Craig ignores his comment, trying to see behind the incubus to see into the mansion.

“I'm right here,” the feminine voice calls out. She shoulders Kenny out of the way and waves them in. She's dressed in a short black leather dress and knee high boots. Her hair is piled high on her head. “Sorry, I told him not to answer the door but he never listens.”

The house smells like food again and they pass through the kitchen where Butters is cooking, dressed in a frilly apron. He greets Craig but seems busy with something in the oven. Kenny follows them out onto the patio and immediately lights up a cigarette from a pack on the table. Menthol. The smell of mint smoke overpowers the scent of the grape vines below them.

“Kenny will be staying with you and Butters,” Wendy explains to Craig. There's an assortment of jewelry on the table and she picks them up, starting with the earrings. They're giant, gaudy things with black and blue stones. They sparkle in the fairy lights.

“Okay but why?” Craig asks, side-eyeing the new demon. “Is he your brother?”

“He's Butters' half uncle,” she says, looking annoyed beneath her heavy black eye makeup. She lifts her arms to buckle a glittering necklace of silver and black onxy around her throat. “None of my relatives would be so aggravating. Unfortunately, he knows more about getting rid of bodies than I do these days so he'll be helping us tonight. It's so much more difficult than when I was young.”  
“Wait, half uncle? What?”

“I'll let him tell you the story,” she says, rolling her eyes. Her eye-shadow glitters nearly as much as her jewelry. “Tweek, come on honey. You can't go hunting naked. Butters has some clothes that should fit you okay. You're taller than him but that doesn't matter for hot pants.”

Wait, hot pants?

Craig stares slack jawed as the two disappear back into the house. As he's trapped on the patio with this new incubus. One who apparently smokes like a chimney and doesn't like to use his legs. Because he's jumped off the patio and is flapping over the grape vines below, inspecting them it looks like. Craig watches him, wondering how old this demon is. His horns are larger than Tweek's but no where near as magnificent as Wendy's. There are no curves or spirals, they just jut up straight, at a slight angle, like maybe a gazelle. They can't be much over three inches long. They're not nearly as intimidating as the succubus' either, the tips don't look nearly as sharp.

At least he's wearing jeans. Maybe if other people are going to be seeing him, Craig needs to start dressing Tweek for reasons besides keeping warm.

“I, uh, can't perform,” Craig announces awkwardly, when he catches Kenny watching him off to the side. And while it's true he can't “perform” right now, he fed Tweek about two hours ago, he also really has no interest in being with anybody, let alone this weird new demon.

The incubus laughs, smoke billowing out in front of him in a wave of mint and tar. He takes another drag from the cigarette and then tosses it down between the grape plants.

“Sorry babe, you're not my type,” he calls back. He flaps his wings a few times, coming closer. He lands on the railing, sitting on it with his legs dangling over but still using his wings for balance. “Not that I don't appreciate the offer.”

“You have a type?” Craig asked, arching a brow skeptically. Because Tweek never seemed to care about size or shape or age. One of his conquests had been a nearly eighty year old janitor with a missing ear. That idea that Tweek had fed on him until he had died had been vaguely nauseating.

“Yeah, they have vaginas,” Kenny winks at Craig. “I mean, unless you're hiding something in your pants I don't know about? My sense of smell isn't that great yet.”

Oh. Craig had no idea an incubus could feed off a woman. It had honestly never even occurred to him. Tweek has never shown any interest in females, at all.

“Is that normal?” he asks, not caring if he offends this incubus. This isn't a dignified creature like Wendy. He seems to be the demon equivalent of white trash.

“Well, yeah, sure,” Kenny slips off the railing and walks over to get himself another cigarette. He tucks a third behind his ear. “I mean, it's not the majority or anything. Because you know, none of us have human mothers that survive the birth.”

“What's that have to do with anything?”

“You don't know shit, do you?” Kenny asks, grinning at Craig. The smile seems wrong on his face. While Craig recognizes the fact that these creatures all are beautiful, they need to be to feed, Kenny doesn't seem like he should look so perfect. He seems like the type who should have a scab on his chin and a couple gaps in his teeth. Maybe remnants of a broken nose in the bridge.

Also, he notices his fangs aren't as long as Wendy's but they look wider. Maybe his mouth is just bigger?

“Dude, our sexuality imprints on us. Whatever gender the first human we see is that's what we need. For a lot of us that's our human father. For me, that was a bunch of female prostitutes. No brainer. Baby needs to eat, you know?”

How...random. If Craig had been born a girl then Tweek would like women? The idea is a strange one. His charge adores being fucked but he probably would like being the one doing the fucking, if given the chance. What if that's what he does with the strange men he picks up? Craig has never let Tweek top him, the incubus has never shown any interest in doing so, but the idea of him topping somebody else for the first time is heartbreaking. If Tweek is going to top somebody for the first time it should be him. Sure, it'd probably hurt but how many times has he been ripped open by Tweek's claws or torn open with his fangs?

Would Wendy scold him if he begs her not to let that happen tonight? Not until he asks Tweek if that is something he wants?

She brings Tweek out before they leave, letting Craig appraise him. He's full exposed, wings and tail and horns. She has him done up in a pair of little black short shorts and a mesh shirt. He's wearing rings on his fingers and a bangles on his arms. And he's wearing a collar.

“I'm taking him to a pet club,” she says, holding up the leash that's currently curled around her hand. Craig is now a hundred percent certain that yes, Butters has worn that leash and collar before. And in public. Maybe not the bangles though, but who knows. “I'm a frequent flyer there, I'll help him find a tourist.”

Foolishly, Craig feels tears start to well up in his eyes. As ridiculous as this whole notion is, it feels like sending his child to school for the first time. He wants to give him a lunchbox and take a picture with him for his first time. He settles with just taking a picture of Tweek, brushing off the questioning glances by saying he looks good in the outfit. He holds Tweek close to him for a long minute, resting his cheek on his head between the horns and ears. He kisses his horns and his ears and his throat and the soft skin around the bangle on his arm. Then kisses him goodbye on the forehead. Tweek smiles nervously.

“I'll be okay,” he tells Craig, accepting the kisses but doing nothing to return his affection. “Don't worry about me. I'll see you later.”

Butters serves their dinner in a separate room to one side of the house, not the dining room as expected. The room is small, with a table that only comfortably fits two and a television with a plush couch to one side. Most importantly, there's an air conditioner in one window that is already on and humming.

The room feels like ice compared to the rest of the house.

Kenny complains that he can't join them if they're going to eat in there.

“We'll go swimming outdoors after,” Butters compromises. “Did you bring your trunks, Craig? That's okay, Kenny has some you can borrow.”

Butters, apparently, is an excellent cook. Still, Craig feels empty as he stuffs himself on steak medallions, grilled corn on the cob, and cheese stuffed jalapenos. It's been a long time since he's not had Tweek around him. Tweek always complained it hurt to be far from him.

They hadn't tested out that theory in so long that Craig hadn't realized that connection had started to fade.

“Time will be more important than distance at this stage,” Wendy had assured him. “He'll be fine as long as it's only a couple hours.”

It leaves a hole in the middle of Craig's chest. A hole that steak and cheese cannot fill.

“I know it can be hard,” Butters tries to sooth him, reaching over to pat at Craig's hand. If he didn't know better he'd think Butters was flirting with him but it seemed more likely that Butters just exudes empathy. “Especially the first few times. But it gets easier, believe me.”

“That doesn't help me right now,” Craig bites out, pulling his hand away from the others touch. Butters' face falls. Instantly, he feels bad for lashing out at this man who's obviously trying to only help him. “How, how long have you two been together?”

“Seven years,” Butters says quietly, pulling his hand back and putting it beneath the table. “Married four.”

“Really?” Craig asks, surprised. He doesn't look that old. He would've guessed maybe twenty. Though he'd have to be at least twenty-one to serve wine. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-three,” he replies, then pops a jalapeno in his mouth, chewing. Craig watches him reach quickly for his glass of lemonade as the pepper burns his mouth.

Twenty-three? That means Butters would have only been sixteen when they first got together?

“You didn't meet at a club, then?” he asks. He barely looks twenty now, he doubts Butters looked like he should be in a club at sixteen. Unless it was some shady ass club that lets sixteen year old boys in. Or fourteen year old boys, if Butters looked about as old as Craig imagines he did at sixteen.

“Nah,” he says, shaking his head. His face is pink from the heat of the pepper. “We met through Kenny.”

“And how did you know Kenny?” Craig prods at him for further information.

“He's my uncle,” he shrugs. The coolness leaves his voice as he senses Craig trying to open up to him. “Well, sort of. His father was my grandfather.”  
“But you're not an incubus?”

“His mother seduced my grandfather,” Butters explains. He sets down his silverware and rubs his knuckles together, glancing towards the door. “I'm not sure if Kenny would want me telling you all this but I mean, he wouldn't hurt me or nothing.” He glances at the door again, and lowers his voice anyway, whispering. “My grandfather married my grandmother when they were real young and they popped out a few kids, including my mother. Then he got drafted to Vietnam, met Kenny's mother at a brothel, and fell in love with her.” Butters looks towards the again, as if waiting for Kenny to burst through the door. “My grandma never saw him again, he died in battle you see. Then I was born but my mother killed herself pretty soon after, I was just a baby. Grandma said it was my fault, that I gave her postpartum depression. Geez, I didn't mean to, you know?” Butters bites at his lips, looking contrite over something he couldn't possibly have any control of. “Anywho, I lived with grandma until I was nine then one day Kenny showed up when she was whooping me and he, well. He got rid of her. He said he was my uncle and he took me to his home and took care of me ever since.”

“He took care of you?” Craig asks skeptically, not easily imagining the incubus raising a young boy without psychologically scarring him. He seems barely more mature than Tweek and Tweek can't even figure out how to put on a shirt on his own.

“Yeah,” Butters confirms, reaching for his fork once more. “He was a really good dad, to be honest. I mean, I never called him dad, but he dropped me off at school and helped me with my science projects so he was like a dad.”

“You weren't scared of him?” Craig asks. “Did he hide his appearance from you?”

“Oh no,” Butters shakes his head. “I knew what he was from the very first time I saw him. I mean, I knew he wasn't human, but he didn't explain what he was until I was like thirteen. But I mean, the horns and tail were pretty much a giveaway.” Butters pops a piece of steak in his mouth. It's a small piece and he chews and swallows it before continuing. “I was glad when he started wearing pants around the house though.”

Craig laughs. It's sudden and so unexpected he surprises himself with it.

“Where did Wendy come into it then?” he asks after wiping away the tears of laughter from his face.

“Oh!” Butters beams, as if overjoyed to even discuss the tiniest detail about his life with the succubus. “She hit on me at the beach! She told me I smelled good and asked if I had a girlfriend. Kenny got awfully sore with her about that and threatened to kill her if she touched me. I don't know what happened after that but she started hanging around the house after that and, well, you know.”

Did Kenny pimp out this poor boy? Craig makes a note to ask her later about the details of this supposed arrangement. But Butters seems happy and he doesn't want to bring him down with details.

They go swimming after dinner, as Butters had promised. Kenny hangs nearby on one of the reclining chair, enjoying the hot desert night.

“I'll go in the spa later,” he promises. Tweek isn't a fan of pools either. Not just the cold but how water weighs down his wings.

The pool is lit from beneath and above, the lights in the pool glowing a rainbow of changing hues. It's a beautiful evening and Craig knows he should be enjoying himself. A private pool in the middle of the country, surrounded by beautiful vineyards. The hooting of owls, the wind blowing through the trees, the shining stars overhead.

But it's hard to not think about Tweek.

He keeps thinking about the men Tweek has flirted with in the past. Those he has killed. He thinks about Tweek kissing other men. He thinks about Tweek taking one into the bathroom for a quick snack. He thinks about Tweek riding one of them in a stall when Wendy's back is turned. Leaving the body. Being found. Being hunted down. Tied up. Burned at the stake.

They never hear them return. There is no sound of a car turning down the driveway. No slam of a door. No hushed whispering.

Craig has retired to the spa, his body starting to chill in the cold water of the pool, and is looking up towards the stars when the lights flash on. He jumps, his gaze turning from the Cassiopeia constellation to the lights in the bedroom. He recognizes the red and white curtains of the window seat and quickly pulls himself out of the water.

“Craig, stop,” Butters calls out, joining him in the cooling air. Kenny stays where he is, leaning back with his eyes closed. His hair hangs damply behind him, touching the cement. “You don't want to see it.”

“I do,” Craig insists, ignoring the other man's calls. He hears Butters' feet patting on the ground behind him but his legs are short.

He grabs one of the towels off the stairs leading back to the house and wraps it around his shoulders. As quick as he is to dash up the stairs, he hesitates at the patio door. Butters stops several feet from him, watching him, his elfin eyes looking huge and scared. He shakes his head and mouths “No” at Craig when he looks at him.

Does he really want to be here for this?

Can he not?

He cracks open the door slowly, quietly, just enough to slip in. Then he slides the door shut behind him. Butter stops at the door and watches him for a second, then he turns and walks back towards the spa.

It isn't immediate. Not until he's closer to the bedroom does he hear the first hint of a sound. Muffled as it is he can't identify what it is exactly. Tweek? Wendy? The man? The squeaking of the bed?

As he steps closer he recognizes the sound of a female sighing. He stops outside the door, frozen, and just listens. Murmurs. There's no tell-tale banging of a headboard against the wall. Just a subdued male moaning, labored breathing.

He slides down against the wall and waits, his legs pulled up against his chest. The tiles are warm beneath him but his skin starts to chill as he dries.

After awhile everything goes quiet and he thinks maybe it's over. He breathes out and waits.

Except it's not over. The next time he hears a moan it's familiar, masculine but not overly low. When he whines Craig covers his hands with his ears. But he can't not listen so a minute later he uncovers them and listens to Tweek whine and gasp and moan as he feeds.

He's louder than Wendy had been. He hears a third, unfamiliar voice, complain that something hurt. Rustling. Then the banging starts as the headboard meets the walls. Wendy's voice comes out barely audible.

He can't blame the man when he screams. If you've never fucked an incubus before it's a totally new experience.

The scream cuts short, the banging comes to a sudden halt.

He can hear Wendy distinctly now, scolding Tweek. “Stop it, he's dead. You can't keep feeding when they're dead, you'll get sick.”

He wants to fling open the door, enter the room, and gather Tweek into his arms.

Instead, Craig sits on the hard tile floor and just waits. It takes longer than expected. The sound of water running rings through the walls as pipes flow. Somebody is showering. Are they cleaning the body to get rid of evidence?

Tweek's hair is wet when they emerge. Wendy doesn't seem surprised to see Craig sitting on the floor outside her bedroom but Tweek startles. Then he's in Craig's arms, wrapping around him. He murmurs happily to see Craig. “Daddy, daddy, daddy.”

He looks good. Eyes bright, skin golden.

The incubus nuzzles into his throat and purrs contently.

He hadn't purred for that man. He would've heard if he had purred for that man. He would've felt the purr, like a bass guitar at a rock concert.

Craig's arms tighten around him. He pulls him close. Closer. His arms are like steel cable around Tweek.

And Tweek continues to purr happily as Craig sobs into his throat.


	3. You're A Gluttonous Queen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How are you guys still reading this? It's about to become my second most popular story on here. You all are a bunch of pervs.

Love me cancerously  
Like a salt-sore soaked in the sea  
High-maintenance means  
You're a gluttonous queen  
Narcissistic and mean  
-Love Me Dead, Ludo

* * *

It's raining Monday morning. The sky is overcast, the air heavy. This is not a normal occurrence for a summer day in the Mojave. Craig hears the rain, smells the rain, before he's even awake. The entire bedroom has a certain staleness to it.

His body recognizes today will be different.

But it starts the same. Tweek pawing at him, his mouth on him, purring excitedly. Craig puts his hand on Tweek's head and watches his length disappear past those perfect lips, down that slim throat. He could take Tweek this morning, if the incubus had turned things towards that direction. He could be on top, even. But the blond seems happy to use just his mouth this morning.

Craig hasn't felt this refreshed in years. In no way is he full of energy and invigorated. But for once he doesn't feel like he's on the cusp of sleep. He doesn't want to think of why. Tweek has fed on three different men over the last three days, two of them are now dead.

He was spared the trauma of seeing the bodies, Wendy had made Tweek and Kenny do that on their own. But he had heard both of them. Had heard their voices, alive. More alive than maybe they had ever been up to that point because sex with an incubus is like jumping from an airplane or bungee jumping. The definition of living for the moment. If you're new to it you can feel their energy thrumming through your body, down to your fingertips and toes. It's exciting in the way a major life event is exciting.

And for those men it was followed by a lifetime of silence.

Tweek drags the living room armchair into the kitchen and shoves it up against the door that overlooks their small backyard. He's already curled up into the armchair, watching the rainfall through the screen door, when Craig returns from his shower. It's a good sign that Tweek is willing to get out of bed without being forced. He has more energy too. He's not starving to death.

Craig kisses him between his horns and goes to fetch his fleece throw blanket off the couch. It was Bebe's. There's a large unicorn on the front, with a glittery horn; the background is pastel rainbow. Tweek is unusually attached to the blanket, he always has been. It might be because he smelled like his mother at the beginning but he's never mentioned the smell. He likes to suck at the silky edge of it, frayed now through the years, and stroke the unicorn's horn.

He tucks the blanket around the demon and Tweek pulls up his feet so Craig can full cover them.

It's not cold out. It's a warm summer rain, oppressive if anything. But Tweek can take chill from the slightest dampness. That had been one of Craig's first lessons as a new father. Tweek had not been born in the hot California desert. To this day, Craig has no idea why Bebe had even been somewhere as cold and damp as Colorado.

The first two years of Tweek's life, Craig had been finishing up schooling in the Rocky Mountains, and Tweek had contracted cold after cold after cold. He'd been a mess, his eyes and nose running, his wings tattered. He would frequently cough up flames, singeing more than a few pieces of furniture over the years. Craig hadn't known what was wrong with him, not exactly, but shortly after Tweek's third birthday in June he noticed how the symptoms seemed to vanish with the warmer weather. So he started applying to warmer places for his first job. California, Hawaii, Florida.

California was better for him. Craig misses his family, his friends, choosing only to visit in the warmest days of summer. But sacrifices were needed to take care of his charge. Tweek has only been sick twice since moving to California, both times during the winter.

Sweat beads on Craig's forehead, the humidity encasing him in a layer of his own sweat, as he pours himself a cup of orange juice. It's much too hot for coffee until he's in the frigid air conditioning of his workplace.

“You're going to Wendy's today,” Craig calls to the incubus. Tweek has burrowed deeper into the blanket, only his nose and eyes peeking out. “You won't be coming with me to work.”

“I know,” Tweek says. He blinks sleepily at the rain. It patters against the cement of their walkway. He's sated from feeding, not once complaining about still being hungry when Craig had finished in only five minutes. He had swallowed it, as usual. He always swallowed. And he never left a wet spot in the bed since his body absorbed any of Craig's body fluids.

It's handy, honestly. Incubi are self-cleansing. Well, sort of.

“You won't be able to have any snacks during the day,” he reminds him. Though he's not sure if that's entirely true. He has no idea what Wendy plans on actually doing with him.

Either way, the statement catches Tweek's attention. He looks up, lips parted. He looks enticing this morning. Healthy, glowing. Beautiful in a way he hasn't in a long time. Craig wonders how he failed to notice the change in him the last few years. He had just assumed he was too use to him to notice his stunning beauty. As if that's something a person could ever tire of.

“You could stay too?” Tweek suggests, eyes wide and innocent. “You don't need to go to work.”

“You know I do,” Craig sighs, ignoring Tweek's attempt to sway him. He knows how to look more innocent than he is. “We wouldn't have anywhere to live if I didn't work.”

“Wendy let me keep the men's money,” Tweek says, grinning as if pleased with himself. Even with the little fangs showing he appears so guileless. “I'll share it.”

“What money? You mean their wallets?”

“Yeah, their wallets,” he agrees, nodding. The tip of his tail, sticking just barely out of the blanket, wags happily.

“Well, what'd you do with them?” Craig asks. He hadn't worn any clothing home the last two nights and it wasn't like he had the ability to just make things vanish. If Tweek had been carrying a man's wallet he would've noticed it in his hand.

“Wendy took them for now,” he replies cryptically. Then, just as abruptly, his interest in Craig vanishes and he turns back to watching the rain. Craig's interest in him doesn't fade. He stares at Tweek's profile, watching the way his throat swallows as a pair of birds land on the feeder by Craig's barbecue. There had been a pet bird one. Tweek had let it out of its cage and chased it around until it broke its neck on a window. He hadn't seemed upset about the death, just the fact he couldn't play with it anymore. Maybe a dog would be better than a cat. “She said she would start me my own treasure room.”

He feels an ache in his gut. A treasure room? Is that like a trophy room? Like how serial killers will hoard hair or teeth or library cards of their victims? He hates to imagine Tweek collecting the wallets of dead men like they're skins of wild animals. Or like mounted heads, more likely.

A brief vision of a wall covered in cold, unstaring eyes greeting him from Tweek's “treasure room” appears before his eyes. He shudders. Tweek feels warm beneath his hand as he bends over the back of his chair to nuzzle at his hair, smelling him, feeling his softness. Tweek isn't a bad creature. He can't help what he is. Sometimes he just needs to touch him and remind himself of that fact.

They enjoy a quiet morning. Tweek had awoken him at dawn and Craig has no early meetings today, no reason to rush into work. He eats a couple fried eggs and nibbles on some lightly browned toast. Once the eggs are finished he takes his toast and nudges Tweek over to share his seat. His lips are still exceptionally full looking, as if Craig had just barely finished kissing him seconds ago, not an hour ago. He complains to Craig when some toast crumbs fall onto his bare chest.

“Stop it,” he whines, wrinkling his nose in disgust while rubbing at his sensitive skin with his dead mother's blanket. “It's itchy!”

He's always had sensitive skin. Craig had always assumed that was due to his young age, that it hadn't had time to harden, to scar, to burn. He had assumed Tweek's skin would toughen up over the years due to exposure. It hasn't. His skin is still as baby soft as the first day he had appeared, and Wendy's had felt similar beneath his fingertips. Probably some sort of feeding mechanism. Make them yielding beneath a human's fingers, make them react easily and alluringly to a person's touch. His chest is hair, his stomach is hairless, his back is hairless. The hair around his pubic area and under his arms are light gold in color and silken like a spiderweb. It even feels soft under Craig's fingers.

Tweek is made for this. Made to be touched and coddled and fucked and loved. You're supposed to look at him, at this creature, and find him beautiful and enticing. That's why he looks like this and not some other type of demon. It's why he has perfect teeth and a delicate nose and pert little nipples. It's why he doesn't have black teeth and a snubbed nose like a wild boar.

The incubus makes an annoyed noise when Craig pushes him back against the chair and kisses him. Tweek presses against his chest, the skin of his palms still as soft as if they're never touched anything besides silk and lotions in their young lives. His claws, however, are another story. They leave marks on Craig's chest, but he's used to being covered in those marks. Craig slips his tongue past Tweek's lips, slipping dangerously close to his fangs. The blond whines more, pushes more, and tells him to stop.

Craig stops when Tweek bites down on his tongue.

He covers his mouth but blood already drips down his chin.

“Tweek!”

“I'm not hungry!” Tweek insists, shouting back. He pushes at Craig with his hands and feet, pressing his own butt into the corner of the cushion for leverage. He shoves Craig to the side of the chair. He's not being as violent as he could, the incubus knows his own strength, but the arm presses uncomfortable against Craig's back. He gives in and stands, leaving the chair to his ward.

“You don't need to be hungry to return my kisses,” Craig mutters angrily, but he knows better than to push the matter further.

The demon lets himself be dressed, despite the earlier scuffle. Craig pulls an over-sized sweater over his head, large enough to enclose his wings, and gives him a pair of jeans to wear. Tweek doesn't like jeans, he says they're too stiff and scratch his legs. Normally, he just wears sweatpants to Craig's work, but Craig feels like he's dressing him up for his first day of school. He wants him to look good for Wendy. He'd pack him a bag if he had anything he'd need to bring with him but what could he possibly pack for an incubus? No snacks, no clothes. He likes to watch stuff on his laptop sometimes but Wendy has plenty of those hanging around.

The incubus sits at the table, wearing his violet raincoat, and watches Craig try to slip his rainboots on his socked feet. It's too wet for him to go barefoot. His feet, like the rest of him, are small and bony. He wiggles his toes as Craig tries to guide his left foot into the boot.

“Babe, please sit still,” he pleads. “It's starting to get late and I need to drive all the way to the wine country before going to work.”

“I don't like these socks,” Tweek complains. “They're too thick. I want my ones with the fish.”

“I could only find your hiking socks,” Craig apologizes. He knows Tweek hates socks but the boots would rub against his skin without them. Tweek wore the fish ones last week so they're probably in the wash. They're girl socks, technically, pink with sparkly multi-colored fish reminiscent of Lisa Frank. Tweek had stolen them last year from Target when Craig's back was turned. “You only need to wear them until we get to Wendy's, it'll be warm and dry inside.”

Tweek relents. He fiddles with the radio on the drive to Wendy's, stopping at some station in Chinese. Craig tells him to change it but he just sits back instead, watching the cacti pass by on his right. The desert animals hate the rain and there aren't even any rabbits on the drive over. Craig reaches forward to turn off the radio but Tweek slaps his hand away.

“I like how their voices sound,” he says, not apologizing.

Wendy's late opening the door. She appears in only a short terrycloth bathrobe, smelling of sex, and there's blood on the corner of her mouth. She ushers them in, commenting on how nice the rain smells.

It's muggy and hot inside. Even worse than Craig's house. Tweek is already sitting on the floor, pulling at his boots. Wendy watches him, her stare unreadable.

Butters patters into the room a moment later, wearing a matching bathrobe to his wife's. There's blood on his neck.

“Good morning, Craig,” he greets brightly. He looks at Tweek in his sweater and jeans and his face softens.

“I've never been away from him this long,” Craig reminds Wendy. “If he starts to feel any pain rush him over and I'll get out of work.”

“He'll be fine,” Wendy assures him. “The bond is very weak now. He could go days without you and be fine.”

“Promise me,” Craig replies, ignoring her reassurance.

She promises.

He lingers over his hug goodbye. Tweek is still sitting on the floor, now removing the socks. The demon doesn't resist for the first ten second, but then complains that Craig is too sweaty, telling him he smells bad. He releases him and kisses his forehead.

“I'll be back this afternoon,” he promises, still kneeling over him. “Do what Wendy tells you.”

Tweek nods. Wendy is the one who separates them, taking Tweek from Craig's unwilling arms and telling him to go on.

The day drags worse than Craig had ever thought possible. He keeps looking for Tweek in one of his normal spots. Beneath his desk, in the corner, flying up above him. Places where nobody could accidentally run into him because he is invisible, not unsubstantial. Not yet, anyway. Wendy says she'll teach him that trick.

“Don't want any men feeling his invisible wings,” she had chuckled.

He never realized how much of his day he spent checking on the demon. Asking him if he needed to go outside to warm up. Taking him into the bathroom to feed. Petting him when he felt neglected. It's like his own arm is missing. His fingers keep twitching, wanting to feel Tweek's soft hair or the smoothness of his horns. Despite the absence of these distractions he barely gets any work done and leaves a half hour early.

Tweek rushes to him when he arrives back at Wendy's house. The rain stopped at around ten and the mugginess of the air has mostly dissolved outside but inside it still feels heavy and hot. Craig is barely through the door before he has an armful of cuddly demon.

“I'm really hungry,” Tweek says, already undoing the button on Craig's slacks. “Daddy, you were gone so long. I need to eat. Please, Daddy.”

Craig looks at Wendy who shrugs apologetically. “Sorry, he tried with Butters but he's still too drained from Friday. I think I took all he could give this morning.”

Sighing, Craig rubs at his eyes. He doesn't want to ask where he can take his son to fuck him, but he knows that Tweek needs it sooner than later. But it's such a crude question. Yes, Wendy is a succubus, bust surely she recognizes the delicacy of such a proposal?

He doesn't have to ask him though. Tweek grabs him by the wrist and drags him out of the room. Towards Wendy and Butters' room. He protests, trying to shake him off. Tweek is too strong and just tightens his grip on Craig's wrist.

“We aren't feeding in their bedroom,” he insists, no longer fighting back. He doesn't want Tweek to dislocate his arm accidentally. But the idea is extremely off putting. Not just because that's somebody else's bedroom, a place that should be a sanctuary for them and them alone, but because two men had recently died there. Three men had recently fucked Tweek in there. He doesn't want to think of other men touching his charge while he's taking his turn feeding him.

But Tweek doesn't take him to that room. He takes him to another bedroom down the hall. It's smaller and only has windows on one wall but the walls are painted a soothing shade of lavender and the deep plum carpet is soft and plush. Craig would think it was a guestroom, at first glance. But it's not a guestroom.

Tweek's clothing from this morning lay in a heap under one window. There's a laptop on a desk and on the laptop is playing an Adam Sandler movie. Tweek for some reason loves Adam Sandler movies. He laughs hysterically every time he watches Billy Madison. There's a poster of The Offspring on one wall. Tweek's favorite band. And there's an assortment of stuffed animals on the bed. Including a pink bunny rabbit, Tweek's favorite animal.

He's trying to kiss Craig now but Craig pushes him away, keeping him at arms length. Tweek, not expecting to be shoved away, allows himself to be pushed.

“Tweek, is this your bedroom?” Craig asks, now spotting a small piano in one corner. Tweek loves to play the piano but they don't own one.

“Yeah,” he says, but doesn't elaborate any further. He presses more strongly against Craig's arms, hard enough to break them, and he has no choice but to give in and allow Tweek what he wants.

He doesn't need another broken arm.

It's been ten hours since he last had sex with Tweek, a record, really. His erection comes easily and Tweek is more than happy to let himself be pushed onto his back. Except he lands wrong, his wings still folded up behind him. Craig sits back far enough to let Tweek sit up and extend his wings. They make a windy sound like a tarp being shaken open. The membranes seem darker red than usual, less orange. He waits until Craig is in him before he wraps them around both of them. The talons dig into Craig's shoulders, levering him. Entering him is like coming home. As usual there is no resistance, he needs no preparation. He's wet inside, leaking and ready for him.

Still, this is not Craig's favorite position. The wings are hot, like the rest of Tweek's body, and they trap the heat inside. But it feels good to be so close to him like this. He presses his chest flush to Tweek's as he makes love to him. The blond presses his hips up eagerly, taking whatever Craig can give him.

Whatever he can give to him.

Not as much as Butters can, apparently.

He tries to force the image of Butters fucking his charge from his mind. Tries not to think about how much larger he was, how much better he could fill Tweek up. How much longer he could pleasure him for.

He kisses Tweek hard, the demon's fangs press against his gums and teeth. They prick his tongue when he pushes it into his mouth, just the faintest taste of blood cutting through Tweek's breath. He hikes up Tweek's legs higher on his hips and thrusts deeply into him. Tweek's mouth opens as he gasps and Craig finds himself kissing his teeth.

Something sharp claws at his upper back. He's uncertain whether that would be the talons or his claws. It could be either, that far up.

He thinks about how Butters had looked with Tweek's claws dragging down the flesh of the small man's back. He thinks about how red his blood had been against his pale skin.

He thinks about how Tweek's legs had been around his waist, like they're around Craig's now.

He thinks about how Tweek's arms had been around his back, like they're around Craig's now.

He thinks about how Tweek's asshole had been around his cock, like it's around Craig's now.

He's starting to go soft.

Tweek whines, pushing up.

“Daddy,” he begs. “Daddy, don't stop. Daddy, I'm still hungry.”

He presses his hips flush against Tweek's bottom and tries to will himself to stay hard. He can't thrust right now. He's going too soft. If he pulled back he'd slip out, he probably wouldn't be able to slip back in.

“Daddy!” Tweek whimpers again.

Craig presses his face into Tweek's throat and waits. He thinks about how good Tweek feels around him. How good he smells. How good he tastes.

Tweek makes the decision for him. He flips them, pushing Craig around so he's on top now. He's so good at this he doesn't even let Craig pull free. He grips him down there, the friction as tight as any normal human's hand. Craig lands on his back with a grunt.

“Tweek,” he protests, “I'm sorry, Daddy can't-”

Tweek's hand curls around Craig's throat, cutting him off. He pulls up, tilting Craig's head so he can look at him.

The incubus' red eyes are glowing. Now like they normally do, not a playful twinkle. They're actually glowing as if being lit from behind by some intense light. Like fire. Hell fire.

“I'm still hungry,” Tweek says simply, his voice a low growl. He presses harder on Craig's throat. There's a smell in the air. Craig recognizes it, it's the scent glands on Tweek's neck. Except he hadn't seen them rub them. How was he able to stimulate his scent glands without touching himself.

Craig's hardening once more. He has no idea why or how, his body is reacting on its own. He can't stop looking into Tweek's eyes. There's something inviting about them. Something warm and sweet and spicy, like cinnamon. Like a Christmas candle.

Tweek loosens his grip on Craig's throat but keeps his hand there, pressing down just slightly on his windpipe. Craig's head swims as he rides him. He's so hard it aches now. He's gone from half mast to painfully hard so quickly he can't even think.

The incubus rides him hard, his bottom slaps against Craig's balls in a way that should be painful but it just makes him to want to come even more. He's close to coming. It's been less than a minute but he wants more than anything in the world to come.

But he doesn't. He pants tiredly beneath Tweek's weight, unable to move. Unable to lift his arms and grab at Tweek's wrists. He can't even press his hips up to meet his movement. He wants to come but he can do nothing to help himself so do.

Tweek is purring now. He looks pleased with himself, his own cock leaking fluids between them. He licks his lips at Craig and smiles at him.

“Daddy,” he purrs happily.

Only when Tweek is close, when he closes his eyes to concentrate on his pleasure, does the spell break. Craig comes so hard, so suddenly, he screams.

His throat feels raw afterwards.

“What was that?” he demands, coughing. “Your eyes.”

Chest still rumbling contently, Tweek curls onto Craig's chest. His eyes are closed. His tail whacks against the bed.

“Tweek,” Craig barks out. “Don't ignore me. What was that?”

“Just the Stare,” he shrugs, yawning. His ears are laid back submissively. “I've done it to you before.”

“Not that like,” Craig insists. The Stare had never been something he couldn't resist. It had been like meeting eyes with a stranger across a room. Enticing, seductive, but not something you had to answer to. You had the option to say no, you just didn't normally want to.

His eyes had never glowed like that.

“Don't do that to daddy again,” he manages to get out. He coughs again. “When I say no I mean no, okay?”

“I was hungry,” Tweek replies. His tail whips the bed harder next to him. There's an anger behind it now. “You're supposed to feed me, Daddy.”

“You'll be the death of me someday, I swear,” Craig coughs again.

He closes his eyes for just a second. Tiredly. When he opens them again it's dark out.

Tweek is across the room, pushing through clothes in the closet. Craig feels weak as he climbs shakily to his feet and goes to him. Tweek takes a shirt to the full-length mirror beside the closet and holds it up to him, examining. Then he hangs it back up with the others. The many others. The closet is full of new clothing, many of their tags still dangling below them.

“You aren't going out already?” Craig asks, his voice small. The room feels cooler than it did earlier, a relief. Must've been the setting sun. “You just fed.”

“That was hours ago,” Tweek complains. He pulls out another hanger with a black sleeveless shirt hanging on it. It's made of something like satin. There's a hole in the back for his wings. “I tried to wake you up but Wendy told me to let you sleep.”

Tweek is wearing jewelry again. Another bangle is wrapped up around his upper arm, different than the one he had worn last night. It's shaped like a snake with its tongue out. He's also wearing a matching snake earring in his right ear.

Startled, Craig reaches up to touch his ear. Tweek hisses and pulls back.

“Stop it!” Tweek complains, shoving Craig away from him. He stumbles back a couple steps, catching himself.

“Did she pierce your ear?” Craig asks, reaching for the jewelry again. “Is that a real earring?”

“Butters did it,” he says, pulling away from Craig's touch. “Stop touching it, it hurts.”

“That's because you have a fucking hole in your ear,” Craig fumes. Tweek is ten, he's not allowed to make decisions like this on his own. Shouldn't he have to sign some sort of form for anybody to pierce a boy beneath the age of eighteen? Even if he looks old enough, Butters know he's not. If he had wanted Tweek to have his ear pierced he would've done it himself.

He brings up the problem with Wendy when she enters the room, already dressed in some latex catsuit. Her hair hang loose and she's not wearing makeup. Beautiful, still, but not ready to go out yet.

“I'm so sick of wearing my dominatrix gear,” she laments. “I want to wear something pretty again. But I can't take him to a normal club until he learns to hide his wings.”

“I didn't tell you that you could stick holes in my son's ears.”

She blinks at him, startled, then she laughs. There's something fake about it. It rushes around Craig like water from a fountain, touching him but not leaving a mark.

“He asked Butters to do it,” she says. “Who was I to say no to my little boy's request?”

“He's not your little boy,” Craig reminds her.

“Details,” she shrugs off his complaint. Then her voice goes soft and probing. “Pity a succubus, Craig. I'll never be able to pamper any children of my own, let me coddle your boy.”

“And what about this room?” he asks, waving an arm around the expanse. It glows warmly from a lamp by the bedside and another one standing by the full length mirror next to the closet. “He has his own room now?”

“He needs a place to feed on his own,” she reasons, glancing towards the incubus. “I'm not going to share my lovers with him forever.”

“You could've asked me,” Craig says, though his resolve is starting to fail. He knows he should be thankful she's been willing to help his charge, not complaining because she's being too nice to him.

“I'm sorry, my dear,” she apologizes, her face softening. She sounds sincere and she touches Craig's hand apologetically. “I'm just used to taking charge of my own life, I'm not used to taking other peoples considerations in mind. I'll ask your permission before I put any more holes in him.”

Tweek has changed into the outfit he's chosen and is primping in front of the mirror now. Craig turns to watch him, feeling that lump in his chest. Another night, another strange man. He looks good in his costume for the night. He always looks good, but knowing he's dressing up to hunt takes that joy away from Craig. He's trying to look good for other men, not for his daddy. For his daddy he just wears sweatpants and rain boots

Wendy walks around behind Tweek, her arms going around his waist. She kisses his temple and entwines her fingers with one of his hands. He doesn't resist her as she lifts up his arm, showing the snake bangle.

“You're so lovely,” she coos into his ear. “I told you that shirt would look gorgeous on you. It brings out your pretty eyes.”

He nods. Craig watches him tilt his head to one side, trying to find his best angle.

“Craig, I believe Butters is nearly done with dinner,” she calls, not turning around to look at him. “Why don't you go see if he needs any help? Kenny won't be here tonight so it will just be the two of you.”

She never allows Craig to watch them get ready. He wonders what the big deal is, but this isn't his house so he concedes.


	4. Gushing for Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the slow updates, guys. I work 40 hours a week and go to school full time. Like I've written a lot this week...it's just been about psychiatry in the 1940's and courtesans in the 1850's.
> 
> This might go to 6 chapters instead, we'll see.

You're a faith-healer on T.V.  
You're an office park without any trees  
Corporate and cold  
Gushing for gold  
Leave me alone  
-Love Me Dead, Ludo

* * *

 

He doesn't show any indication of noticing Craig from across the expanse of the open room. His movements are sluggish, lurching, reminiscent of an old Frankenstein movie. This man who smells like vinegar and raspberries. As if he has any right to smell like that. As if he had any right to even look at Tweek, let alone touch him.

Craig doubts this man, this boy really, would even notice Tweek's wings right now if he flew out in front of him. This boy, this intruder, is struggling for consciousness. Craig eyes the way he keeps touching his forehead, as if he's trying to make sense of his spinning head. Of his heavy eyelids. Maybe he thinks Wendy has drugged him? But why would she drug him then send him on his way? You're supposed to drug somebody before you sleep with them, not after. She's holding him by the arm, leading him, half supporting him, but quickly ushering him towards the door.

Craig swallows painfully, as if trying to eat his feelings, and sinks deeper into the overly plush arm chair. He wishes Butters was here. Or even Kenny. Anybody who could've been here to distract him as he listened to this intruder pleasuring his godson. This stumbling idiot of a man.

But Kenny had “business” somewhere else this week. And Butters was too exhausted to join Craig tonight. The younger man had barely even been awake when he had greeted Craig at the front door, yawning and rubbing at his eyes like a child up past his bedtime. He had also smelled like vinegar and raspberries.

“I'm sorry, I'm just so tired,” he had apologized in that overly concerned way of his, his eyes large and sympathetic. That was the first time that Craig had noticed the color of them, the true color of them. That was the color Tweek had begun to mimic when hiding his true form. He was copying Butters' ocean blue elfin eyes. “I slipped a roast in the oven, it'll,” he had been cut off mid-sentence to yawn, so wide and long it hurt Craig's jaw to watch him. “The stove will turn off automatically when it's done in about an hour so help yourself. I need to go back to sleep. I'm sorry.”

Nearly dropping with exhaustion from feeding Craig's charge and this man still goes out of his way to make him dinner. As if Craig hasn't lived for years off frozen dinners and canned soup. As if he needed somebody six years his junior cooking for him and looking after him as if he were his mother.

It feels nice to be the one being taken care of for once.

But this was the first time that Butters had let Tweek feed off him so extensively since that first night nearly two months ago. Tonight was an “experiment.”

A successful experiment from the looks of it. From the looks of him. The intruder, stumbling and stupid but breathing.

Somehow, seeing a man survive Tweek's ravishment is much, much worse than knowing he had killed an innocent stranger. This boy is attractive too. Shorter than Craig maybe but more muscular with a more chiseled jawline. A frat boy, maybe, who has time to work out and take care of himself and eat well. He can't even be in his mid-twenties yet. Not unless he has amazing genes. He's wearing a CSUSD t-shirt, a few holes along one armpit. Just a college kid. Living it up, visiting the Gaslamp District, partying, picking up some hot demons for a threesome.

Must be nice. To not have had to devote a third of your life to looking after and feeding a newborn demon. If Craig wasn't constantly exhausted from feeding he'd be able to party and work out too. If he didn't have Tweek to watch over he could date and drink and maybe finish his masters.

But Tweek is worth more than any of that. He won't begrudge his charge his love just because his life hadn't gone exactly as planned.

“I'm sorry,” the boy is mumbling, nearly drooling on himself. “I don't know what's wrong with me. I thought I'd have enough stamina to take care of you both.”

“Don't worry about it,” Wendy soothes, stroking the inside of the intruder's elbow. There's a mole there, right beside the crease. “My brother could wear out anybody.”

They told this man they were brother and sister? How perverse. Even worse than having sex with your godson, surely. What kind of sick pervert wanted to bed a brother and sister? She manages to push him out the door, locking it securely behind him. Craig wonders if the boy is driving. Did she hire him an Uber? He hopes he's driving. Maybe he'll crash. Maybe he'll run off a cliff and land in the ocean on his way back to his surely luxurious beach side apartment.

Tweek manages to sneak up on him without Craig noticing. Unsurprisingly, he was able to find him in the chair, his sense of smell has improved greatly over the last couple months. He slips into Craig's lap, wiggling into the space between his knees and torso, the top of his head pushing against his godfather's chin. No pointed ears or nubbed horns press into his skin. He smells like cheap body spray. Axe or some even worse rip off. Craig wants to take him into the shower and soap him down.

Instead, he pushes him back by his shoulders and looks at Tweek. He looks fully human. A beautiful, sensual human. The most beautiful human Craig has ever seen. But human.

“Show yourself to me,” he whispers hoarsely, hating to see him looking like this. He hates his fake blue eyes. He hates the flatness of his teeth. He hates seeing him disguising himself for the pleasure of other men. He hates this camouflage of normalcy.

Tweek pushes back against him and the flat roundness of his horns nudge at Craig's throat. He tightens his arms around him and breathes in the smell of his hair. Tries to ignore other, less pleasant scents.

“He did well,” Wendy tells him as she lays herself on the couch across from Craig's chair. She's wearing a robe but not the one she greets him in on early mornings. It's silken and lacy, blood red. Surely an instrument of seduction. “I had to pull him off but he didn't resist me.”

“Good job, honey,” Craig manages to growl out. He kisses Tweek on top of the head. Hair silken from being well-fed. “I'm proud of you.”

Tweek purrs back softly, happy with the praise. His tail thumps against the arm of the chair.

“We'll try again next weekend,” Wendy says, picking up one of Tweek's stuffed animals from the couch. She hold sit out in front of her and plays with its glossy eyes. It's a harbor seal. “Butters needs a break. Your boy is very strong, it'll be a long time still before he can feed solely on a human without killing him.”

“Not next weekend,” Craig shakes his head. Tweek's hair feels soft against his cheek. He doesn't mind the scrape of a leathery ear against his jaw. Better than the earrings. “Our trip is next weekend, remember?”

“Oh, that,” Wendy wrinkles her nose. She stands and walks towards the kitchen. Wine. She's going to fetch a bottle of wine. There's no other reason for her to ever go into the kitchen. Craig holds Tweek close, cuddling him and enjoying the heat of his skin, waiting for the succubus to return. She returns with three glasses. “I don't think that's a good idea.”

“What?” Craig asked, confused. What she saying he shouldn't touch his own ward? Tweek's tail is still thumping against the arm of the chair, a sure sign of his enjoyment.

“The trip,” Wendy replies, taking her seat. She pulls her legs underneath her and leans forward to pour herself a glass of wine. Her cleavage swells beneath the collar of the thin robe. “Tweek is just starting to make some real progress. It'll set him back if you take him away for two weeks.”

“We go home every summer,” Craig replies, annoyed that this woman could possibly assume she knows what's best for his godson. There's a distant padding of socked feet on cold tiles. “He could live to be as old as your father, let him have two weeks with me.”

Butters appears in the hallway, eyes barely open. He's holding a bottled water to his lips, squeezing it around the middle as if he can't get the liquid down his throat fast enough by gravity alone. He stumbles over to the couch and slumps down beside Wendy, leaning against her as he quickly falls back asleep. She puts her arm around him, supporting him. He breathes softly, a slight whistle from a too-small nose. Craig wonders if he had a nose job. It's such a petite thing, barely a smudge on his face.

“He did a number on my husband,” she chuckles, brushing some hair fondly from Butters' forehead. “He'll be a powerful demon someday, mark my word. But only if he feeds well. Don't you want him to be strong, Craig?”

“Two weeks won't hurt him,” he argues again. Tweek makes a whining sound and he realizes he's gripping him too tightly. Not that the incubus couldn't pull free if he wanted but he doesn't like it when Craig presses his head too tightly to his chest. He loosens his grip and the blond repays him by slipping free from Craig's grasp. He reaches for him but is too late. Tweek glides towards the couch and cuddles up to Butters now, his claws touching the other blond's face. Butters blinks sleepily, trying to focus his eyes. Craig's teeth clench as Butters opens his arms and Tweek rubs up against him. The young incubus is now in a loose threeway hug between the human and the succubus while Craig sits alone on the couch. He feels almost chilly without the intense body heat of the incubus in his lap, which is ridiculous since Wendy keeps it blisteringly hot throughout the entire house.

“Why don't you try joining us instead?” Wendy asks. Craig, in his dazed state, once again misinterprets her question. She wants him to join their cuddle pile? “Tweek would probably enjoy having you there when he feeds from another man. He's very affectionate with you.”

Affectionate. Like a beloved pet. Not like a lover or a son. Doesn't she realize Tweek loves him, just as much as Craig loves him back? Affectionate!

“Tweek,” Craig calls to him, softly, “Come get back in my lap.”

The incubus does not even bother to acknowledge he heard his command. He's pawing at Butters' loose pajama bottoms, wanting permission to feed again already. When the sweat from that other man has barely even cooled on his skin. Butters is fast asleep, his arms around Tweek already starting to fall.

Wendy slides her own hand between Tweek's claws and her husband's crotch, carefully pushing him away. Tweek's fingers flex, the claws catching the fabric of the bottoms as he's pushed away.

“He's too tired, dear. Wait until later.”

“But I'm still hungry,” Tweek complains, gripping onto the legs of Butters' bottoms now. Craig hears the tearing of cloth. Another piece of ruined clothing from Tweek's claws. “I don't want to wait.”

“He's too tired,” she says again, patient to a fault with Craig's ward. “If you were to feed off him now you would kill him. Leave him alone.”

“But I'm still hungry,” Tweek complains again, as if not hearing a single word Wendy just spoke. He bunches up the PJ bottoms into his fist and they slide down just a couple inches from his waist, exposing the top of a batch of blond pubic hair.

“You're not hungry, you're just greedy,” she says, affection bleeding through her voice. She scratches behind Tweek's ear with one of her claws and he shakes her off.

“I'm still hungry,” he insists petulantly. As if he hadn't fed on three men within the last eight hours. Then he's looking at Craig, his eyes large and pleading. “Daddy?”

Craig had fed his charge this afternoon, after arriving at the mansion at the end of his workday. It's been nearly six hours, and six months ago he could've easily fed him again by now. But he feels so tired. He shakes his head helplessly. He knows he couldn't get hard, not unless Tweek were to use the stare on him. And that's not a pleasant experience.

Tweek makes an annoyed noise and turns away from him abruptly, covering himself in his wings so Craig cannot see him. He must be curled up into Butters now, he might've woken him up again. He knows how cozy it can be inside of one of Tweek's wing-embraces and feels mildly jealous.

“He's coming with me to Colorado,” Craig says, hardening his voice and turning back to the topic at hand. “It's only two weeks.”

“Two months ago, when I first found you two, the boy was near death,” Wendy drawls. She's already nearly finished half her wine and it's already starting to hit her. Demons just can't hold their liquor. “If I hadn't come along it is likely he would've already passed by now. If you take him away we'll be back to where we started.”

“I'll keep him fed,” Craig insists. His hands clench into fists on his thighs. He feels so exposed without Tweek here with him. It feels like part of himself is missing, he's so used to him being close to him any time he's sitting. “It's only two weeks. He'll be fine.”

“I don't want to go,” Tweek's voice calls out grumpily from his wing cocoon. “I want to stay here with Wendy.”

“You don't get a choice in the matter!” Craig calls back, annoyed with his godson for choosing the succubus of himself. He's only ten! He doesn't get a say in this. Besides, he's his godson, not hers. He's his to take care of. “And you always liked going to South Park anyway, why are you complaining?”

“I only liked it because I was bored,” Tweek replies. His voice sounds muffled. Craig can imagine how he looks inside the cocoon, lips pressed against Butters' throat. “But I like being with Wendy more. She lets me talk to people.”

“I couldn't bring you to a barbecue with your wings and tail!” Craig protests. “It's not like a fetish club, people wouldn't take well to it!”

“Well, I can hide them now, can't I?” Tweek points out. His tail lashes angrily in the air, knocking over a vase on the table. Wendy moves like lightning, grabbing it mid-air before it shatters on the ground. If he noticed, the incubus doesn't care to mention it. He pulls back his left wing just enough to look over his shoulder and glare at Craig. “Does that mean you'll let me be visible?”

“Around my friends and family?” Craig asks skeptically. “What would be the point in that?”

“So I don't have to hang around bored and invisible,” Tweek sneers, his fangs suddenly appearing longer. “It's not that entertaining, you should try it sometime.”

“My friends and family are pretty boring, too,” Craig tries to reason with him. His fingers twitch. His calves feel restless. He gives in and stands up, walks over to the couch, and sits next to him. He touches him through the membrane, feeling him breathing. “Tweek, you look like jailbait. How can I introduce you to them? I wouldn't drag a 'friend' from out of state and people would say things if I called you my lover.”

“Then let me stay here!” Tweek humphs, covering himself fully with his wing once more. Wendy chuckles off to the side, hiding her smile behind her empty wine glass. She leans forward and sets it on the table.

“Darling, stop being so naughty,” she scolds him, but her voice is fond. “Come pick something out of my treasure room to take on your trip with you, that way it'll be like I'm there with you.”

“Anything?” Tweek asks, peeking again.

“Almost anything,” she reasons, smiling lovingly at the other demon.

The treasure room. Craig had been wrong about that. Wendy had finally gotten around to showing him her treasure room a couple weeks ago and it wasn't full of hunting trophies as he had predicted. It was full of, well, treasures. Or at least what demons saw as treasures. Which mostly seem to be anything that shines, glitters, or sparkles. Expensive jewelry, cheap Christmas ornaments, moderately priced glassware. Everything in the room sparkled from a rotating color-changing light on the ceiling

Tweek had shown Craig his own treasure room and it was depressingly empty compared to Wendy's, so scarcely furnished that all his belongings could fit on one table, rather than covering the floor as Wendy's had. His new jewelry hangs from a jewelry tree, pathetically small compared to Wendy's collection, and he's added a few little knick knacks from the house he's always seemed attached to. Random objects that Craig had never quite understood the appeal of before, like an old kerosene lamp full of green kerosene and a toothbrush holder with gemstones that Karen had given him when he moved out. The glittery shoe from the stripper is also in the room now, from the night they had first ran into Wendy.

Craig had bought him an etched goblet from the dollar store afterwards, as a surprise, and filled it with glittery red stones from the dollar store. Tweek loved it and had set the goblet directly in the middle of the table.

Demons are weird, but he supposes it's a harmless enough fascination.

Four days later, Craig helps his godson carefully pack away the sequined Christmas ball that Wendy claims she picked up back in 1953.

 

* * *

 

“This...is your boyfriend?” his mom asks incredulously, her eyes sweeping over the small blond demon standing in front of her. Tweek is clutching at Craig's arm, trying to pantomime some movie he must've seen in an attempt to seem like a 'proper' significant other. He's looking around the yard with too-large eyes, trying to act as if he's never been here before. As if he hasn't been attending a decade of Fourth of July barbecues in this very spot.

It makes him look ditzy, and not in a very flattering way. He doesn't like endearing, just stupid. Great, everyone is going to think Craig picked up some dumb arm candy somewhere in West Hollywood. Probably a great fuck but with the personality of a blow up doll. They already have a horrible opinion of Californians.

“Yes,” he says, faking a smile. He strokes Tweek's arm affectionately. “Mom, dad, this is Tweek. He's my, um, partner. We live together.”

“Tweek?” his father asks, raising an eyebrow. He's holding a Budweiser in his hand. He claims it's the only beer anybody should drink on an American holiday, because it's a true American beer. Which really makes no sense, wouldn't it be more American to drink some local craft beer, where you know it's made nearby? “What kind of name is Tweek? Is that your stage name, son?”

“Stage name?” Tweek asks, wrinkling his nose. It makes him look stuck up. “I'm not a stripper.”

“That's not what I meant,” Thomas Tucker grumbles. He chugs from his beer.

“What's your full name, dear?” his mother asks, shooting a glare at her husband.

“Tweek Tu-” Tweek starts to say. And dear God, what if they think Craig married him? Of course he gave Tweek his last name at birth, it would've been too inconvenient to name him Donovan, too many explanations needed. Why didn't they discuss this beforehand? They had discussed Tweek's parent's jobs, but not his last name?!

“Tweek,” he interrupts quickly, catching his godson's attention.

“What?” Tweek asks, tilting his head to look at him.

“Your last name,” Craig fumbles, hoping he'll just go with it. “I was just telling them your last name. His name is Tweek Tweek.”

“His last name is the same as his first?” his father asks, clearing sensing something is up. He probably thinks Craig brought a rent boy with him on his vacation. As if he were incapable of snagging a real boyfriend. Or maybe he thinks he just has a thing for rent boys.

“It's, uh, spelled differently,” Craig says. “First name has two e's, the second has an e and an a.”

“So his name is Tweek Tweak?” his mother asks, clearly confused. As if Tweek wasn't already a weird enough name.

“Yes,” Craig agrees. And is luckily saved by the arrival of Token and Jimmy, who appear to have spotted him and are enthusiastically greeting him. It's always nice coming home. Gone eleven months of the year but it's always like they just saw each other yesterday.

“What kind of Californian are you?” Token teases him. “I think you're paler than when you left.”

The Marsh barbecues are legendary in South Park. A tradition started by Randy but perfected by Stan. Half his graduating class is here. He introduces everyone to Tweek as his date, being vague on the exact details, and he receives a variety of appraising, disgusted, and scolding looks in return. Whenever anybody asks what he does Tweek gives the pre-planned answer of attending California State University of San Diego full time, for marine biology.

Their hope that nobody would ask any further questions are dashed when Stan reacts enthusiastically to this announcement and begins asking questions about harbor seals and garibaldi and a bunch of other shit Craig has no idea about. The shorter man traps them between himself and the barbecue, where Kyle is in charge of the grill. Stan gave up meat in high school and can't even stomach cooking it for other people so Kyle always gets stuck with grill duty.

“He's a Freshman,” he spits out when Tweek just stares blankly at Stan, his eyes starting to blur purple as the red bleeds into the fake blue irises. He blinks and they're crystal blue again.”You know how it is when you're a Freshman, just a bunch of boring writing and philosophy classes.”

“Oh, yeah,” Stan grimaces in sympathy. He claps Tweek on the back and Craig feels a sudden jolt of fear that part of his wings may be sticking out, as his eyes had begun to turn. “Don't worry man, sophomore year is better.”

“So you are eighteen, right?” Kyle asks in an accusatory tone, squinting at Craig from his spot behind the barbecue. As if looking at him would help him figure out of Tweek is of legal age to bone. “If you're in college you have to be at least eighteen?”

“He's nineteen,” Craig says miserably. He looks nineteen, anyway. And he'll look nineteen next year, and the year after that. He'll look nineteen when Craig is forty, and when he's fifty, and when he's eighty. He won't be a permanent fixture at these barbecues. God, will Craig still be making love to his godson when he's a geriatric? He can't tell if that's a dream or a nightmare.

“And how did you meet, exactly?” Kyle asks. It smells like something on the grill is starting to burn but he doesn't look down to turn anything, his gaze is intense and Craig has to avert his eyes.

“Natural history museum,” Tweek replies quickly, remembering the answer Craig had per-programmed into him. Now, admittedly, that answer seems extremely unbelievable. What cute nineteen year old twink picks up old middle age men at museums? Is thirty middle age? He should've told Tweek to just say a bar. It'd be a bit seedy, but believable. Now they'll just think some fetish club or somewhere worse that Craig didn't want them to know about. Like a furry convention.

“I see,” Kyle says, clearly judging them. “Stan, honey, the burgers are almost done. Get the plate ready.”

Not everybody can marry their childhood sweetheart, for fuck's sake.

Once the awkward questions have come and gone, the party begins to become more bearable. And Tweek appears to be enjoying himself. He doesn't like the Budweiser that his father hands him, but he does like the wine cooler than Stan pours into a plastic cup for him.

“Don't want anybody to catch you drinking a chick drink,” he jokes. Craig wants to punch him in his stupid jock face, but this is his barbecue. Still, what an asshole. Making assumptions that Tweek can't hold his liquor just because he's cute and young.

And to make it worse, it's true. But not because he's cute and young. He can't hold his liquor because he's a fucking demon. He nurses the wine cooler slowly, it's strawberry daiquiri flavored, and starts to slur his words before he's half finished with it.

Jimmy tells him that Tweek is cute, for a guy. Jimmy might be the straightest person that Craig has ever known. He has two live in girlfriends which sounds both amazing and exhausting. He leaves Tweek with him while he goes to use the bathroom but Jimmy's talking to Shelly Marsh when he returns, telling him that Tweek wondered off somewhere on his own.

Except he's not on his own. Craig finds him in the kitchen with Stan, who's pulled out a fucking Jell-O mold from the fridge. Who the hell makes Jell-O molds in this day and age? Is in 1955 all over again? And it's in the shape of a fucking dolphin.

It's already starting to sweat on the counter. And that leaves Craig to wonder how long Tweek has had Stan cornered. Not that Stan realizes he's cornered. He looks as happy as a dog with a bone as Tweek leans on the counter next to him, biting at his lips and playing with his hair. The room reeks of Tweek's pheromones. Stan probably can't even smell them. It's a subtle smell that is easily overlooked unless you know what you're looking for. But Tweek isn't using the stare on him, at least, he's flirting with him in a more casual manner.

He must be hungry.

Craig glares at Stan as he leads Tweek away by the elbow. Fucking prick. It's not like he knows what Tweek is. It's not like he's aware that Craig is forced to share him. As far as he knows, they're monogamous and Stan was flirting with his boyfriend like some dickweed.

The entire second story is completely empty. Craig hold Tweek by the hand as he opens the doors, unearthing a linen closet and a study. The third door is a bedroom. Stan and Kyle's bedroom, from the look of it. It's too personal to be a guestroom, though it's too immaculate to be the bedroom of a normal person. Only Kyle Broflovski would have a bedroom that looks like it belongs in some upscale hotel.

He leads Tweek to the bed and begins to undress him.

“Hungry?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

“Really hungry,” Tweek nods. He pushes Craig back and reaches for his shorts, shoving them down to get at Craig's soft cock. The scrape of his claws make him wince. He's fully exposed now, no longer hiding his form.

“I should lock the door,” Craig decides, pulling away from the demon. Tweek protests, his claws sliding across Craig's thighs. Blood wells up on one side.

“Daddy,” he pleads, reaching for him as he walks away. Craig locks the door quickly and returns to the bed.

The bedding smells like Kyle's hair. Some anti-frizz serum shit that smells like honey and citrus and perfume. It would be a turn off, except it feels almost triumphant to do this here. To make love to his godson in this almost holy place. It's sacrilegious in a way. This is Stan and Kyle's bedroom, the epitome of pure, vanilla love.

And Craig is plowing a demon into their mattress.

He uses their lubricant. A bottle of heating, cinnamon flavored stuff to one side. As if Craig would ever need warming lubricant. Tweek is even hotter inside than out, like sinking into a hot tub. He doesn't want to be kissed today though. He moves his head to one side, avoiding Craig's lips, and gasps out his delight as Craig thrusts into him. His red eyes glaze over in pleasure.

“Daddy!” Tweek screams as he releases. And Craig is too exhausted to care if anybody hears him. And he's still exhausted that night when Tweek comes crawling to him later that night, wanting to feed once more. He doesn't get hard again until morning.

 

* * *

 

By the third day, Tweek starts to complain he's hungry all the time. Whiny, self-indulgent complaints as if he were a teenage girl asking for a new purse or nose job. Annoying but not a big deal. By the fifth day, he starts to become listless. He follows after his godfather with heavy steps and hanging arms. On the eighth day, he refuses to accompany Craig to brunch with his mother. Which is fine, it's difficult to pass off Tweek fake eating, and that's the entire point of brunch. He tells her that Tweek caught a summer flu but should be fine and dandy in just a few days.

On the ninth day, he's so sluggish he won't even speak to Craig. He opens his legs and lets himself be taken but puts little effort into it. No clawing at his back, not even a whip-like tail lashing at his thighs. He falls asleep immediately after, snoring softly, wings fully exposed.

This is even worse than it used to be. He's wasting too much energy on hiding his true self. Going invisible but not insubstantial is much easier than outright vanishing his bodily oddities. There's an event at Karen's that day, one of his niece's birthdays, and he has to excuse Tweek once again. They'll be leaving tomorrow, they'll drive right to Wendy's house and surely Butters will be able to feed him. Everything will be fine.

The party last longer than anticipated. He excuses himself after an agonizing five hours of watching kindergartners run around in sprinklers, sensing he's refreshed enough to provide Tweek with another feeding. Trying to ignore his own concern for the boy. If he allows himself to feel concerned he'll feel scared. And God, what if Wendy is right? What if he is killing him? Starving him to death in just two weeks? He had seemed so much stronger, so much healthier, when he was with Wendy.

“I just want to check on him and bring him some gingerale,” he insists when his mother protests that this is a “family event” and that he can't just “abandon your sister for some boy toy.” Why they would think he's just some fuck toy and not his partner is beyond him, he's been very affectionate in front of his parents. “I'll be right back, I'll only be gone like an hour. Back before the cake, I promise.”

Something about the house feels eerie when he enters. It's not the silence, the humming of the air conditioner helps with that. That house doesn't feel empty, not necessarily. But something about it feels off. Something feels too still, too stale. Something about it feels like death.

Craig runs up the stairs, needing to see Tweek now. He knows he's overreacting, of course Tweek is still alive. He couldn't starve to death that quickly, surely. He just fed. But Wendy said he could. Wendy said he was near death just two months ago. But he's fine. He has to be fine. He was healthy enough to still hide his wings this morning when saying goodbye to his parents.

But what is that feeling in the air then, if not the aura of death?

Tweek is fine. He's sitting up in bed, fully wrapped in Craig's old heated blanket, watching a couple kids playing on scooters in the street. His shoulders are bare. His face is calm, serene. He's fine.

He's more than fine. He's glowing. The redness in his eyes seem lusher, his hair is silky. His tail thumps on the bedspread. His skin is golden. He smiles at Craig when he sees him, greets him warmly with an excited “Daddy!” He opens his arms for Craig, wanting to be held.

Craig doesn't rush to him. Craig was ready to rush to him the entire ride here. Craig was in the action of rushing to him all the way up the stairs. He was ready to rush to him when he flung open the door. But now he just stands frozen in the doorway, not wanting to move a single inch forward.

Next to Tweek lies the nude, un-staring corpse of Stan Marsh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anybody actually like this fic? I've got such little feedback. I mean, I'm writing for myself so it doesn't really matter I suppose. But I also censor myself online which I don't have to do if I'm not publishing.


	5. You're a Parasitic, Psycho, Filthy Creature, Finger-bangin' my Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second to last chapter.

You suck so passionately  
You're a parasitic, psycho, filthy creature  
Finger-bangin' my heart  
You call me up drunk  
Does the fun ever start?  
You're hideous and sexy!  
-Love Me Dead, Ludo

* * *

 

The nightmares keep coming. It's been two weeks now but they keep coming. Two weeks since Craig had to stare in horror at the body of his old schoolyard rival sprawled across his childhood bed. Two weeks since Craig saw what his godson is really, truly capable of. Two weeks since he looked the capabilities of a demon in the eye.

It had been different before. When they were strangers. When they were always dead, never alive. When he had never seen these men walking and breathing and talking and kissing their boyfriend and throwing around a football and making potato salad. They had been like animals then. Like a steak in the supermarket, already butchered and wrapped.

He had never been a fan of Stan. He had been like the bizarro version of himself as a kid. As Craig had been the charismatic, dark-haired leader of his group of friends, Stan had been the same among his own. They had been childhood rivals. Two opposing gang leaders. Craig had absolutely despised it when they started attending North Park High and people started asking them if they were fraternal twins. As if he could ever be related to that loser.

But he wasn't a bad guy, honestly. He was overprotective of Kyle Broflovski, who really is an overaggressive tool, and he liked to force anybody around to sign a new petition every week. Animal rights. Women rights. Gun control. Whatever the hot topic of the week was. But he was all right. He just seemed insufferable in the way he simpered after Kyle like an obedient dog.

God. Kyle. Even several states over, Kyle's panic is thick in the air. He's all over Facebook, asking around. Not that Craig is actually friends with Kyle on there but they have enough mutuals that his reposts are bleeding through Craig's feed. He had to stop checking in. Because what can he possible say to that man? “Sorry Kyle, my godson/lover demon child fucked your husband to death?” Do you want a consolatory Jell-O mold?

The nightmares have been consistent for two weeks. Two weeks of dead eyes. Two weeks of Kyle's tears. Two weeks of Stan's ghost haunting him. And Tweek's absence has been almost as long.

He misses him acutely. Every minute he's away from him is like being filled in a room with no oxygen. But at the same time, Craig is terrified to look at him again. He's terrified of seeing him and hating him. Of being disgusted by him.

Tweek has been Craig's life for so long he doesn't even know how to live without him. He's done nothing but sleep, eat, and work since they got back. He hasn't seen his charge since he dropped him off with Wendy immediately upon return and it's eating at his soul. His very reason for existence has been pushed away.

Even now, he's putting it off. Sitting in the driveway, staring at the vineyards in the distance. Knowing he told Wendy he'd be here after work but not wanting to step out of the car. He wants to put it in reverse and floor it as far away from this place as he can. To Florida or New York or fucking Quebec. However far a car can take you without needing to board a ship on the way.

But he misses Tweek. So, so much. He misses his sweltering body heat. His smell of demon sex. The softness of his hair, the roughness of his wings. He misses the way his claws dig into his back, the way his tail wraps around his leg when he's on top of him. He misses the way he smiles when Craig buys him a present he begged for or the way he'd curl up under his mother's blanket when he tucked him in. He misses the way he called after him, plaintively, “Daddy!”, when he'd awake in the bedroom with Craig missing. Usually just in the bathroom, but far enough to worry him.

Craig knows he can't not see Tweek again. That is simply not an option. You might as well tell him to keep living without water or air.

He takes the keys from the ignition and pockets them. Then he grabs the blanket off the passenger side seat. Something tumbles from the frayed bundle and Craig winces.

It's a small Altoid box. The same one that had been in his car two weeks ago when Craig had pried the ring off Tweek's finger and stowed it away where he couldn't find it. Because what if somebody saw? What if somebody looked at the gold band on Tweek's finger with the tiny little diamonds and recognized it? Not that it was a particularly flashy ring, but it's definitely a wedding ring, and surely that would've brought up further questions anyway. From his parents, at the very least.

Tweek had protested. Claiming it was his treasure, that he had earned it, but how could Craig possibly allow the incubus to keep Stan's wedding ring?

He could've just thrown it out, but that just felt wrong. To throw out a symbol of the love between two boys he's known since he was born basically. He also doesn't want it hanging around his house. So that really only leaves him one option. It will be safer in Tweek's treasure room anyway. It will serve as a reminder of the Marsh-Broflovski marriage long after the rest of them are dead. Tweek will remember them all when they're nothing but bone. Maybe even after that.

Butters answers the door. He looks tired, but not falling down exhausted. Craig can imagine. How difficult must it be to take care of both a succubus and an incubus?

“They're not here,” he sighs, but moves aside to usher Craig in anyway. His hair looks limp, as if he hasn't showered in a few days. He doubts that's true. Probably just from the sweat. The house is even hotter than normal.

“What do you mean they're not here?” Craig demands, walking past the small blond man. The blanket hangs from his tight fist. It's like an oven inside. Butters closes the door behind them.

“Exactly what he said,” a third voice comes from the side. It's Kenny, of course, lounging in front of the television where some horrible celebrity dancing show is playing. He doesn't turn to look at Craig, seemingly engrossed in it. “They've fled the premises, disappeared, gone off on their own to start a new life.”

“They're clothes shopping,” Butters interrupts with a roll of his eyes. He touches Craig's arm, as if he intends to take it, but Craig pulls away from him. The blond sighs in exasperation. The smell of something garlic-infused drifts from one side of the house. “Somewhere in Orange County, I think. They should be home soon.”

Craig doesn't bother to follow Butters into the kitchen. He walks down the hall instead, towards Tweek's room. The door is already open. It smells like him and it looks more lived in now than it has in the past. There's clothing thrown over chairs and on the floor. Books stacked on his vanity, an empty wine glass next to the bedside. The bed is unmade and Craig startles when he spots the black cat curled up on the pillow. It blinks its yellow eyes at him, seemingly undisturbed by his presence. He'd never seen a cat around here before. Is it Tweek's?

The cat doesn't move as Craig approaches. Not even when Craig carefully climbs onto the bed and slips between Tweek's sheets. The scent of demon sex permeates the mattress. How many men has Tweek had sex with in this bed?

How many men took their last breath in this bed?

Craig thinks of Stan's frozen eyes and shudders. He resists the urge to jump from the bed and rush out of the room. He wonders if any of their spirits still wander the expanses of this house? Maybe vengeful spirits. Would he be angry if a strange demon had fucked him to death, or would he say that was a nice way to go? A murder is a murder.

But Tweek sleeps in this bed as well. He doesn't just feed here, this is where he curls up with his blankets and books and apparently his new cat and takes his long, mid-day naps. Where he spends his evenings, alone now, without Craig by his side.

The image of Tweek, alone in this big bed, a waif of a demon, makes Craig's heart ache in his chest. He turns towards the wall and holds Tweek's stuffed bunny to his chest. He's so vulnerable, so small and young.

Except he's not. He's a killer. He's a demon. Spawned from hell itself, as far as any of them know.

Wendy says they're all direct descendants of Lilith, the first succubus. The demonic Eve. Craig has no idea how she knows that. Is it one of those things that pass down the generations, like language and the ability to play instruments? Do demons just know they're demons? Not just a different species from than humans but a creation of the Devil, not God?

Of course Tweek is a creation of the Devil. No Godly creature could be simultaneously so beautiful and innocent, and so heartless and remorseless.

God he loves him so much. More than anything he's ever loved in the world. More than his family or any of his pets or possessions. He'd sell his soul to Satan to be able to stay with him forever.

He's ready to take Tweek home. He wants him back in his bed, in his arms. It's Friday, he doesn't have work tomorrow. They'll spend it alone, just the two of him. Maybe they won't even leave the house. They can binge watch episodes of SVU together; Tweek loves SVU.

Movement on the bed draws his attention and he turns to see Kenny joining him on the bed. He's all long, lanky limbs with very little meat on his bones. The perpetual skinniness of youth. He sidles up by Craig and reaches out to pet the cat. The animal seems to know and recognize him because it tilts its head so Kenny can scratch behind its ears. It's purring. Craig misses Tweek. Misses scratching behind his ears and making him purr.

“She's not coming back,” Kenny tells him, watching the cat appraisingly.

“What?” Craig feels his stomach drop. Not coming back? She wouldn't leave with Tweek. Not without Butters, surely, anyway. But hasn't that been his fear all along, that she would abduct his godson? Tweek wouldn't know how to fight back. She's so much stronger than him.

“Not tonight, I mean,” Kenny clarifies. The cat stands up and walks over to him, laying back down in the dip of his stomach. Kenny strokes the fur on its side. “She's not ready to give him back to you.”

“She can't keep him,” Craig replies angrily. He tightens the grip on the stuffed animal, tight enough he'd snap its neck if it was a real rabbit. “I'll stay here until she brings him back if I need to.”

Kenny shrugs. He turns onto his back, stretching out, arms so long they bump against the wall through the metal bedstand as he reaches up.

“Listen, Craig,” he begins, going loose-limbed once more. He's exceedingly attractive. He's not even using any of his incubus tricks on Craig, they don't work on him, apparently. His scent only attracts human females. But his type are supposed to be the embodiment of physical perfection and they really are, despite the different body types of all three. Petite Tweek, strong Wendy, and lanky Kenny. “You're a good guy. Smart enough, for a human. But surely you have to see how futile this all is?”

“He's bound to me,” Craig reminds him, looking away from Kenny's handsome face. He hates to admit he's starting to become aroused. “He's my godson. His mother bound him to me.”

“And that bond has been broken,” Kenny says simply. His nose twitches and Craig knows he smells his arousal but for once he shows some tact, not bringing it up. “It's been two weeks. It was already stretched as thin as a piece of sewing thread and now it's been snapped. Can't you feel it? The pain of it being cut? Tweek felt it. He stopped asking for you after only two days.”

“He hasn't forgotten about me,” Craig snaps at him. “He just has a short attention span.”

“He hasn't forgotten about you,” Kenny confirms. Then gently, he touches Craig's hand. Hot, just like Tweek is hot. “But he doesn't need you. He's not a baby anymore.”

“He's still my godson,” Craig insists. He wants to pull away from this incubus but the familiar heat of him is so tempting he can't help but scoot just a little closer. Close enough their legs touch. “Parents don't stop caring for their children just because they grow up.”

“Human parents, maybe,” Kenny concedes, pressing back against Craig. “But Tweek is an incubus, not a human. It's not natural for my kind to stay attached to humans. You die and we do not. It's a simple enough matter to understand. We can love, we have to love to create more of our kind, but it is not lasting.”

“You raised Butters,” Craig reminds him. He thinks about how the two look at each other. Butters with an annoyed fondness, Kenny with an obsessive adoration. “You still hang around him, watching over him. You obviously love him. What's your excuse?”

“Craig, come on,” Kenny pushes at him. “Butters is a nymph, not a human. He'll die, someday, but he'll still be around in the flowers and trees. You'll still be able to talk to him, if you know the secret. Supernatural creatures are drawn to each other. It's just how it works. But you're not a supernatural creature. You're just a human.”

“I just, I can't,” Craig caves in. The sting of tears burn in the corner of his eyes. “I love him so much. He's my entire world.”

“I don't think Wendy is going to make you stay away from him entirely,” Kenny tells him. “But she doesn't plan on letting you take him back to your house. This is his home now. You must realize that?”

Craig nods dumbly. Of course he knows that. He's known that since he first saw this bedroom. Since he first saw his godson's new wardrobe. Since he first saw Tweek's own treasure room. She's treating him like the son she can't have. But he's still his godson. He's still his.

“Children grow up and move out,” Craig says, swallowing back his tears. He moves away from Kenny, feeling vulnerable now. He hates when other people see hims being so emotional. He's always been the strong one. Strong for his sister, strong for his friends, strong for Tweek. Vulnerability doesn't come easy to him. “This is no different. But I'll always be part of his life, as long as I live.”

“You won't be able to feed him when you're old and gray,” Kenny states the obvious, sitting up. “And that's not that far away, you realize that? Humans live such a short time.”

“I'll always be part of his life,” Craig reiterates, ignoring the slight at his own mortality. “In any capacity that I can be.”

Kenny slips out of the bed. The cat sits up, watching him with alert eyes. Ears erect. Then it jumps off the mattress and follows Kenny out of the room, winding between his stilt-like legs. Craig is glad when he closes the door behind him.

It takes a long time for Craig to fall asleep. His heart is beating hard in his chest and he's thinking about Kenny's words, about Stan's body, and about the ghosts that must haunt this bedroom. He wonders if any of their blood stains the mattress beneath the immaculate white sheets. Tweek is such a fan of clawing and biting. But he wouldn't be showing his claws or fangs, would he? Nails and normal canines don't work nearly as well.

Butters knocks on the door at one point, calling softly. Asking him if he's hungry or if he wants anything to drink. Craig ignores him, tries to even his breathing out so he sounds like he's sleeping. He isn't sure how good Butters' sense of hearing is. He covers his face with the unicorn blanket he had brought from home.

When he wakes up the house is still and the early morning sun is shining directly on the bed. It's very early, barely dawn. He walks into the kitchen for a drink, fishing out a carton of orange juice from the fridge. He drinks it from a wine glass because there are several of them drying on the counter and he doesn't want to look for a regular glass.

His throat is parched.

He spots the purse on the counter. There's a ring of keys next to it, with a pentagram keychain. Wendy's keys. She's home. They're home. But Tweek wasn't in his bed? He didn't join him in bed that night?

Craig enters the other bedroom as quietly as he can. He just wants to see. Of course Wendy will know that. She wouldn't attack him just for looking. She couldn't. She'll understand he just wants to see his godson.

All three of them are in bed. And they're either naked or topless because bare shoulders peak out from beneath the blankets. Tweek is in the middle, his back turned to Butters who is spooning him. Two blond heads pressed closely together with tousled hair. His face is buried in Wendy's bosom and her arms are around both the smaller blonds. Her large horns glow in the morning sunlight.

Her eyes are already open and she's watching Craig. There's no menace there, no anger. She's just observing him as if he were an animal at the zoo. Something harmless, like a Thompson Gazelle maybe. He stares back at her, waiting for her to do something.

It's been awhile, two weeks, and she's beautiful. He's already hard. He wasn't hard when he entered the room but the place is filled with the pheromones of two man-seducing sex demons. He wants her. He didn't even know he was capable of wanting a woman. It's been so long since he's bedded anybody besides his own demon. She licks her lips and her eyes go down to his crotch. She nods at Craig knowingly.

One of her arms moves and she brings it across Butter's shoulder and up to Tweek's head. She brushes a few strands off his face.

“Darling,” she coos softly, lovingly. “My precious baby. Your daddy is here to see you.”

Tweek blinks sweetly and turns. Turns to look behind him. At Butters.

“Daddy?” he asks, confused. He hasn't spotted Craig. Hasn't smelled Craig. The scent in the bed must be overwhelming for him not to smell Craig's arousal from only twelve feet away. Tweek tries to move, to turn towards Butters, but Wendy holds him tight.

“Your daddy is over there,” she says, tilting her head towards Craig. Tweek turns now and sees him, his eyes look blank. There's no excitement in them. No mad dash to be in Craig's arms. No running to slam into his chest like there has been in the past. Even his tail is still. He'd be able to hear it thumping beneath the blankets.

“Go see your daddy,” Wendy tells the incubus, releasing him from her grasp.

Tweek sits up slowly, languidly. He's gorgeous. His body is the epitome of perfection. His skin is poreless. His eyes piercing. His lips asking to be kissed. He climbs out of bed, going over the end rather than scrambling over the other two occupants, and he walks to Craig calmly. He presses his forehead into Craig's throat and waits to be held. Craig has no choice but to put his arms around him. How could he? How could he not hold the demon he loves more than anything else in the world? If Tweek told him right now he planned on slaughtering every human in the world, Craig would stand obediently at his side.

“You were gone a long time,” Tweek tells him. It doesn't sound like a complaint, more of an observation. “You said you'd never be gone that long.”

“I was busy,” Craig lies. It feels so good to hold his godson again. He tightens his grip, crushing the incubus against him. He feels even hotter than normal. Maybe from being sandwiched between the other two in the bed. “I won't leave you that long again. I'm ready for you to come home again.”

“I am home,” Tweek replies simply. And Craig knows he hasn't forgotten about their apartment, about Craig's bedroom, about the kitchen with the screen door. He's telling Craig he's not going back. He's telling Craig that he's moved into this mansion in the middle of the vineyards.

“Just for the weekend,” Craig says, asks, pleads. “Just for tonight. You can come back tomorrow.”

Tweek shakes his head. His horns brush against Craig's jaw. They feel slightly more pointed than they have in the past. He reaches up and touches them with his hands to confirm the difference. Nowhere nearly a true point, no, but not the rounded nubs they were two weeks ago.

“I just want you to have a sleepover with me,” Craig begs. “Like in those 80's slasher movies you like, where the girls all eat popcorn and tell stories? You can live here, just come have a sleepover. We can sleep on the livingroom floor in sleeping bags and I'll comb your hair for you.”

“Let's have one here,” Tweek tells him. “You had one last night without me. Have one tonight.”

Like that's the same. Like they can lie in bed together watching Netflix or sit together and watch the birds outside in this house. Like they can do anything at all together in this house that doesn't revolve around Wendy. His hopes of serenely brushing out Tweek's hair until gleams hold are quickly fading.

“Okay,” he agrees, choking on the word. Because it's still better than not getting to see Tweek at all. He'd rather sleep in Tweek's bedroom with the demon in his arms than alone in his own bed. Even if he's finally been able to run the air conditioner for the first time since moving in.

Tweek's hungry. At least that hasn't changed. Tweek always feeds first thing in the morning. He's already undoing Craig's jeans. The same pair he had worn to work yesterday, the bi-monthly casual Friday his work allows. Wendy calls out to him to bring him to bed. Craig doesn't want anything to do with that bed. But Tweek is already pulling him along, up over the same end he had come down over. And Craig allows himself to be pulled along.

Wendy is shaking Butters awake. Telling him he needs to feed Tweek, which is ridiculous, because that's what Craig is doing. He's trying to feed his godson. But she tells him no, let Butters go first. He needs to be tempered. And Tweek reaches for Butters before Craig can say a single word.

But at least he can touch him. Tweek slides down onto the other blond's length before Butters is even fully awake and Craig holds him from behind, his hands covering half of Tweek's skinny chest. It's a different feeling, a new point of view. Holding his ward's back flush against his chest as he rides another man's cock. Tweek grips Craig's forearms, his claws planting themselves firmly into his flesh, and uses them as leverage as he fucks himself on Butters' dick. Every time he pulls up Craig feels the strong pressure of Tweek pressing down, then the pressure drops as Tweek does. He doesn't complain when Craig kisses the back of his neck, or his ears, or when he licks at his horns. Wendy is leaning over Butters, kissing him tenderly. And that's not part of feeding. Kissing isn't feeding. She's kissing him because she wants to kiss him. Craig sucks at the burning skin on Tweek's throat, attempting to mark him. It won't work, it never does. Demons don't bruise. He keeps doing it anyway.

Wendy might be a much stronger demon than Tweek, much older, but even she gives in to her hunger. She slides her hand down to the base of Butter's cock and holds it, blocking Tweek's movement. He pulls off without being told so. As if this is something they've done before. As if they've shared a lover before. How many times has Butters had to feed both of them? How can he be so capable of doing so? So strong? He's so, so small.

“Feed off your other daddy,” Wendy tells his godson. “It's my turn with Butters.”

He looks hopefully at Craig and Craig nods. His hard on is painful. He isn't used to going a single day without sex, let alone two weeks. He slides his arms around Tweek's waist and kisses him, pushing him onto his back. He loosen his wings but doesn't extend them fully, lest he engulf Butters in their length. He's wet and loose still, more so than if he hadn't just been riding another man's dick. But he still feels so good that Craig has to take a moment to let himself get used to the feeling, his forehead pressing into Tweek's shoulder. He can't come yet. He won't come yet. He tries to think of something to stop himself from coming. Dead puppies. That hobo he saw shitting on the side of the street. Stan's dead body.

Tweek whines, pressing up against him. Craig presses him down against the mattress and unleashes two weeks full of frustration on him. He has more energy than he has had in a long while and feels virile. Tweek releases a series of lovely little moans and leaves raw flesh beneath his claws.

He's missed the sound of Tweek's purring. The sensation of his deep rumbling through his chest.

“Wrap your wings around me,” he tells him after awhile. He feels too exposed next to the other couple. He can see Wendy feeding off of Butters right next to them, her claws gripping his sides right below the other man's ribs. He doesn't want to see that.

He wants to be alone with Tweek. This is the closest he can get to that right now. In this leathery flesh cocoon. It's darker like this, the light filtering red through the membranes. And it's hot. But it feels close, loving. The wings sway with the movement of Craig's thrusts. The talons hook themselves together between Craig's shoulder blades, the sharpness of them scraping against his skin. What does it matter? He has years of scar tissue on his back.

Craig comes much quicker than he'd like to. Not embarrassingly quickly, not even any quicker than normal, really. But after two weeks he wanted it to last. Hours of love making to make up their lost time. But he clocks in at only twelve minutes.

And that twelve minutes drain him completely. He can't even move to get off of Tweek. The incubus squirms out from under him, turning to use his shoulder as a pillow as he goes back to sleep.

Wendy and Butters don't finish for another ten minutes. But Craig is too out of it to care. He hears them, vaguely, but it's like listening to a television playing the news in another room. Distant and unimportant. He stares at the ceiling, frozen. Cold and unable to move. He wonders if he's dreaming. Is he experiencing sleep paralysis?

What if this is all a dream? Everything? What if Tweek doesn't exist? What if he's still twenty years old and in college and Clyde is still alive and Bebe isn't really a succubus and he still has time to try to make it into NASA if he passes all his engineering classes with perfect grades? But what if Tweek doesn't exist? What's the point of living without Tweek?

He's crying when he suddenly awakens. Tweek is gone. But Butters lies beside him, sleeping the sleep of the dead. Snoring softly through that too-small nose of his.

Craig can move again but he calls for Tweek anyway. He doesn't come.

 

* * *

 

She tells him he needs to go out hunting with them. Tomorrow, if possible. But not tonight.

Wendy is not a stupid woman. She knows that Craig is too exhausted to even walk out the front door, let alone accompany Tweek hunting.

So they go out alone. Craig and Butters sleep the night away, together in Wendy's bed. Craig awakes several times in the middle of the night. He's exhausted but restless. The occupants seem to change continuously. At first it's just him and Butters. Then Kenny is there. And then Kenny is gone. Then Kenny is back. Then Tweek has joined them so Craig is in a pile of blonds. Until Kenny is suddenly replaced with Wendy. The night passes in a rushed blur that goes on for eternity.

He can't feed Tweek in the morning. He's more awake but not to the degree that he can get hard. He listens to Butters feeding him through a daze of sleep and consciousness. Then it's Sunday night and he has to leave.

Tweek barely acknowledges his exit. Craig tells him that he'll see him after work. Wendy tells him not to bother, they're going down to Mexico for the rest of the week.

“We'll be back by Friday,” she assures. “I have a few lessons for Tweek that are best taught out of the country.”

Craig doesn't ask. He doesn't want to know what sort of lessons need to happen away from the US government. Maybe Wendy is selling kidneys. The thought is almost comforting. It'd be much better for some poor kid to get one of the kidneys of Tweek's victims than to just let them go to waste. But how does that even work? What kills the victim of an incubus? Is it just a heart failure? Or is it total organ failure?

He tries to push the thought from his mind.

Friday takes forever to come. But Craig feels himself getting stronger every day. Strong enough that by Friday he feels refreshed and ready to be with his godson once more. And they're already there when he arrives at the house, getting ready for their night out. Tweek looks up when Craig arrives but doesn't greet him. Wendy is helping him tie a pair of thigh high fishnets with black ribbons.

Wendy has Craig's outfit picked out for him. He holds it up, confused. Happy that it's not a latex leather suit, and that it appears not to need fishnets, but what is it exactly?

“Is that a top hat?” he asks.

“Yes,” she confirms.

“And is the cane needed?”

“You know nothing, Craig Tucker.”

It makes more sense when they arrive at the club with the banner proclaiming it's Goth Night. Though she still hasn't explained why she and Tweek are wearing matching Gothic Lolita dresses. Butters is dressed in a fishnet shirt, one of his nipples sporting a ring visible through the sketchy fabric. Wendy has him on a leash.

Is this really a good idea? Couldn't they have just gone to a casual gay bar for Craig's first hunt?

She recommends Craig leashes Tweek as well.

“It's not mandatory,” she says. “But it helps with couples confusion. People might just think you're his wingman and it's a waste of time sending away those interested in an actual relationship.”

He doesn't leash his godson. He just sits at the end of the bar and seethes as he watches him dance and drink and flirt. Until Wendy drags him out behind the club and scolds him for scaring away a potential victim, because does he want Tweek to fucking die?

Why does everything have to be so damn complicated?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for the big ending!!! Lulz don't bother. It'll suck like the rest of this fic.


	6. Love Me Dead!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short end chapter because simple demons have simple thoughts.

She moves through moonbeams slowly  
She knows just how to hold me  
And when her edges soften  
Her body is my coffin  
-Love Me Dead, Ludo

* * *

The snow glitters beneath the ever-changing colors of the overhead light, but it never lasts long enough. Certainly not through the entire song. Tweek turns the snow globe upside down and shakes it. The silver glitter spins in the water and he turns it upright again, watching the snow settle. The song continues to play. Something absolutely familiar that he's sure he's never heard in his life. He doesn't know the words of the song.

Daddy Butters gave him this snow globe. It was a gift. He said the song is called Once Upon a December. There's a castle in the middle but the snow doesn't settle on it like a real castle, like real snow. It slides off the roof and walls and settles near the base of the castle.

He shakes the castle again. The song is starting to slow down. He doesn't care about the song though, he just likes the way the glitter shines blue and red and green in the lighting of the treasure room. Maybe he'd like real snow more if it shimmered like glitter does. But it'd still be cold. He doesn't like cold.

The door opens and Tweek tilts his eyes up to see who has entered. It's Old Daddy. He didn't tell Old Daddy he could come into his treasure room. He doesn't like anybody in his treasure room, not even Mommy. Not that he could stop Mommy if he wanted to. She's so much stronger than him. He's seen her twist the head off a meal once they were finished with it.

That's why he obeys Mommy. She's strong and Tweek is not. Not in comparison. But he's stronger than Old Daddy. He tells Old Daddy to go away.

Old Daddy does not go away.

Mommy tells him he should be nice to Old Daddy. She tells him to obey Old Daddy, when he can, because Old Daddy wants what's best for him. She tells him not to touch Old Daddy, unless she's around. But Tweek does not want to obey Old Daddy. Old Daddy stinks. His smell sickens Tweek.

Old Daddy reeks of weakness. He always does. And on top of that, today, he reeks of despair. It's a nauseating stench. Sour and spoiled. Tweek doesn't want Old Daddy here. There's gray hair on his temples and wrinkles on his forehead. Daddy Butters doesn't have any gray hair. Daddy Butters doesn't reek of weakness. Daddy Butters smells like strength and vitality. Even when he's too tired to open his eyes Daddy Butters doesn't smell like this human. He smells like a primitive forest. Like soil and sunlight and wind. Like late spring and early autumn. Like babbling streams and decayed leaves. Like life and rebirth.

Old Daddy smells like old age and death.

He tells him to go away again. But Old Daddy disobeys him. And Mommy tells him to be nice to Old Daddy. So he makes room for him to sit. Daddy Butters put this chair in for him. It's egg-shaped and suspended from the ceiling, not really a chair built for two. But Old Daddy pushes his way in and puts his arms around Tweek and he lets him.

Mommy says his spell on Old Daddy is too strong. That he's been mesmerized far too long to ever stop loving Tweek. But she assures Tweek it's not his fault. That it's normal for fledglings to over-exert themselves on their early caretakers.

“We're like baby rattlesnakes,” she had explained to him, holding him in her and Daddy Butters' bed. “Our young are the most dangerous because we don't know how to use only a little poison. Your old daddy has fed on your poison for so long he doesn't even realize how deep the venom goes.” She says to be nice to Old Daddy, that Old Daddy doesn't realize how unnatural his love is. She says the kindest thing is to keep poisoning Old Daddy so he never realizes it.

But Old Daddy stinks.

“Tweek,” Old Daddy sighs, his face in Tweek's hair. His breath smells like desperation. “My darling, light of my life. I'm so happy to see you again. Daddy missed you so much.”

It's only been a couple days. Mommy took Tweek shopping in San Francisco. She buys him anything he asks for and doesn't make him kiss her like Old Daddy used to do.

Old Daddy is trying to kiss him now. Tweek pushes him away. He's not hungry. Daddy Butters fed him just a couple hours ago. Daddy Butters almost always is ready to feed him when he wants to be fed. He's the best meal Tweek has ever had. Tweek wishes Daddy Butters was always available but Daddy Buttes belongs to Mommy. She says Tweek should just be happy that she's willing to share and go find his own meals.

But Tweek's meals usually die. Then he has to get rid of the bodies. Except for that one in Colorado. Old Daddy had got rid of that one.

Old Daddy stops trying to kiss him. He presses his face into Tweek's throat and breathes in. The smell of weakness invades Tweek's senses. Cold hands press into his waist.

“Here,” Old Daddy says, pulling back. “I brought this for you. I keep meaning to give it to you.”

He hands Tweek a metal tin. It smells like something cold. When he opens it Tweek sees a gold ring huddled into a corner. He takes it out and looks at it. There's two little diamonds on it. Not as pretty as the jewelry Mommy gives him. But it's his. Tweek won it off one of his meals. The one Old Daddy had taken from him. Tweek puts the ring on his middle finger. It's too large.

“This was mine,” Tweek says. “You took it from me.”

“I had to take it away,” Old Daddy insists. “Can't you see that? I couldn't risk my parents seeing you wear it.”

It's never a good idea to take away a demon's treasure. Tweek is quite certain his Old Mommy had killed a man for attempting to do so. Many years ago. He knows he should call his new mommy Mommy Wendy instead of just Mommy, but his Old Mommy is dead. She doesn't know. Demons do not have souls. There is no after world for his type.

“Go away,” Tweek tells him again.

“Wait,” Old Daddy says. He pulls out another box. A fuzzy gray one with rounded edges. “I bought you a second one, to make up for it. Here!” He opens the box and there is another ring there. And it's much prettier than the first. With a rainbow of different gems set on a silver band. Old Daddy clumsily attempts to pry it onto Tweek's finger. He takes it from him and slips it on himself, raising it above him head to see how well it sparkles. It's a good ring. Every gem sparkles a dozen times in the light.

“Thank you,” he tells Old Daddy. “It's pretty.”

“I let go of the apartment,” Old Daddy tells him. “And I used the rent to buy it for you. I'm going to be living here from now on.”

Tweek doesn't want Old Daddy living here. He'll make the house stink. But he has no say in the matter. If Mommy told him he could stay here then what could Tweek possibly say?

This time, when Tweek tells Old Daddy to go away, he does.

 

* * *

 

The man Tweek chooses smells wonderful. Young and ripe and ready to be plucked. He had no gray hairs or wrinkles. He lets the man buy him a drink and he drinks it slowly, smiling and staring into his eyes. Working his magic on him. He has to be thorough because Old Daddy scares off his meals if he isn't.

They take the man home, into Mommy's bedroom. She says she still needs to be there, for now. “To observe.” The man doesn't mind being watched by the two dark-haired figured. Old Daddy joins them after awhile. He reaches around to touch Tweek's cock. It feels nice, Old Daddy has soft hands. When Mommy tells him to stop feeding off the new man he turns to Old Daddy, climbing on top of him. Old Daddy watches him from below, mouth open, eyes lidded. He doesn't taste as good as the man. He tastes stagnant. But Tweek is still hungry so he pushes down again him, feeling his dick inside him. The stretch of his asshole is satisfying. The bulbous cock-head presses divinely. But his energy is so low there is very little to pull from him. He sucks at the invisible layer of sexual energy anyway, draining it as if he were draining the blood from his body.

Mommy wouldn't like that thought. Mommy doesn't like vampires. She says they brood too much and are too messy. And sometimes they'll attack other supernatural creatures for little reason than their own stuck up sense of righteousness.

Mommy pulls him off of Craig and it's so unsatisfying Tweek wonders why he even bothered. Barely more than a light snack. He's still hungry.

Mommy tells him he can't feed on Daddy Butters right now. She tells him he's had enough. But Tweek still feels hungry. He asks her if they can go find another meal and she says no.

He goes to bed still feeling hungry.

 

* * *

 

Tweek is still hungry in the morning. Mommy and Daddy Butters and last night's meal are all gone. But Old Daddy is still in bed. He lies still besides Tweek, sleeping, his breath slow and stuttering.

“Daddy,” he whimpers, touching Old Daddy's face with his claws. Old Daddy's face is very pale. Almost as white as the pillow. “Daddy.”

Daddy doesn't move. Tweek moves his hand, dragging his claws over Daddy's shoulder. Daddy winces and looks up, blinking at Tweek as if it's difficult to see him. As if he weren't sitting right in front of him.

“Daddy,” he says again, whining, lacing his voice with all the need and urgency of a crying infant. “Daddy, I'm hungry.”

“I can't right now, Tweek,” he says. “I'm so tired.”

“Daddy,” he begs. “Please, Daddy.”

Old Daddy shakes his head. Tweek turns him over, onto his back, and climbs on top of him. He's soft and small beneath him. About as enticing as a baby mouse. He smells so weak. But there's still some energy there, something for him to feed off of.

He uses his stare on him. Old Daddy had told him not to, but he isn't objecting now. He wants to feed him. Tweek can sense that. He isn't adverse to the idea of Tweek feeding off him, he just thinks he can't do it right now. But he can. Tweek knows he can because he feels him hardening beneath his thighs.

“Tweek,” Old Daddy pleads. “I can't right now. Please. Can't you understand that?”

“But I'm hungry.”

Old Daddy closes his eyes and lets out a long, stuttering sigh. He doesn't open them again when he nods. He's going soft again. There's a long silence where Tweek starts to wonder if Old Daddy had fallen back asleep. But then he opens his eyes once more and lets Tweek use his incubus stare on him. He concentrates on the stare, pulling his magic forces forward to the space in his head. Old Daddy's breath begins to quicken, his cock hardens to full length beneath him. Tweek uses a clawed hand to direct the erection to his entrance, pressing back against it to impale himself. He sighs with satisfaction at the first bite of a meal for the day.

Old Daddy groans beneath him but he doesn't move. He lets Tweek do all the movement. He sinks down fully, his asshole widening around the length of Old Daddy's cock. Then he digs his knees into the bed and pulls up, before pushing back down. The wet slide of Old Daddy's dick inside him fills the room. He repeats the motion and the sound of human skin slapping against incubus flesh resounds. He does it again. And again. And again.

“Tweek,” Old Daddy protests, his voice so soft Tweek can barely hear it above the sound of skin hitting skin. He pretends not to hear it. “Tweek, please.”

Tweek purrs. It's an involuntary action in his part, just something his body does when feeding. But he does choose to wrap his tail around Old Daddy's leg. It helps anchor him, gives him more force to push down with. It's like a third limb. The extra force makes Tweek close his eyes and gasp.

Old Daddy doesn't gasp. He just watches Tweek with his forest green eyes. The little Tweek can see of them anyway, because they're barely slits. Only staying open because Tweek is using the stare fully on him now and there's no way he can close them at the moment.

Old Daddy is breathing slowly now. Very slowly. Not at all how it usually goes. Usually, when he's feeding, Old Daddy's breath is ragged and quick and Tweek can hear his heart beating in his chest like the pounding on a door.

But his heart is beating slowly too.

Tweek claws at Old Daddy's chest, trying to get a better grip. H needs more friction. Old Daddy is doing nothing to help him. He isn't pushing up, he isn't gripping Tweek's hips. He's doing nothing. He bounces bonelessly beneath Tweek as he fucks himself on his still rock hard cock.

The incubus doesn't know the exact moment Old Daddy dies. His breathing and heart are so slow by that point there is no sudden halt. Not crashing stop. Just a breath...a beat....a breath.....a beat......a breath............

He stops himself, not pulling off of Old Daddy. He waits. But there's nothing. And his body is only pulling coldness from inside him.

The coldness makes him ache inside.

He climbs off of Old Daddy and sits beside him on the bed, watching him, waiting. Waiting for him to wake up.

He doesn't wake up.

Old Daddy's lips are blue when Mommy finds them. She tsks and shakes her head and tells him what a shame.

“I told you not to touch him,” she scolds, reaching for the garbage bags tucked away in Daddy Butters' dresser. “Now look what you did.”

“He'll wake up?” he asks. Why is she taking out the garbage bags? Old Daddy isn't one of those meals from the clubs. Old Daddy belongs to him.

“No dear, you killed him,” Mommy shakes her head. She has large, gleaming horns. Much bigger that Tweek's. She says he'll have one likes her someday. “Get out of bed. I want him bagged before your daddy sees him.”

“Oh,” Tweek blinks, looking down at Old Daddy's pale white face. “But he's human. He'll go to heaven?”

“Don't be a fool. You devoured his soul. It'll be with you until you die.”

Tweek smiles. He likes that idea. That Old Daddy is still with him, inside him. And now he doesn't stink any longer.

“I'm still hungry,” he says. “Where's Daddy?”

 

* * *

I know she drains me slowly  
She wears me down to bones in bed  
Must be the sign on my head  
That says, oh  
Love me dead! Love me dead!  
-Love Me Dead, Ludo

* * *


End file.
